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THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS 



Page 29 



THREE 


LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS 


JOSEPHINE E. REED 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

H. WOOD 


THE BISHOP PRESS 

KANSAS CITY, MO. 



COPYRIGHT 1916 BY 
JOSEPHINE E. REED 


/ 

MAR 1 1 1915 

©aA397066 


TO THE 

THREE LITTLE HEROINES 



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CONTENTS 


Chapter 

I Loraine’s Departure 






Page 

9 

II 

The Shut-Ins - - . 






13 

III 

Marjorie Makes Her Debut 

- 

- 

- 

- 

- 

21 

IV 

Clyde Entertains 

- 

- 

- 

- 

- 

26 

V 

The Removal - - - 






32 

VI 

Some Strange Visitors 

- 

- 

- 

- 

- 

38 

VII 

Another Removal 

- 

- 

- 

- 

- 

45 

VIII 

The Second Christmas 

- 

- 

- 

- 

- 

52 

IX 

Marjorie’s Visit 

- 

- 

- 

- 

- 

58 

X 

Christmas the Third 

- 

- 

- 

- 

- 

74 

XI 

Loraine Tries New Fields 

- 

- 

- 

- 

- 

82 

XII 

The Expected Request 

- 

- 

- 

- 

- 

87 

XIII 

Corinne and the Junk Shop 

- 

- 

- 

- 

- 

91 

XIV 

Christmas Again 

- 

- 

- 

- 

- 

95 

XV 

Decisive Changes 

- 

- 

- 

- 

- 

98 

XVI 

The Last Christmas 

- 

- 

- 

- 

- 

103 


Jibwishka - - - - 





- 

111 




THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS 


I. 

LORAINE’S DEPARTURE. 



to the slender form outside the window. She 
looked so little mid the snowy banks around 
her; and the mother eyes would have filled 
with tears if they had not been past weeping. 
Uncle Don lifted the little girl into the hack 
and they were whirled away while the 
mother turned her attention from the child 
she could not kiss goodbye to the two little 
children indoors. 

“Will she be away long, mamma?” asked 
Corinne, with the same serious look she had 
worn ever since troubles had come so thick 
and fast. 

“Loraine is not coming back,” answered 
the mother, smothering a break in her voice. 
“We will go, too, as soon as you are well.” 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


‘‘Will we go to Uncle Don’s?” asked little 
Marjorie. 

“Yes, just as soon as the doctor takes our 
quarantine sign down.” 

“And will papa come, too?” she whispered 
to her sister; but Corinne, with a thoughtful- 
ness far beyond her eight years of existence, 
shook her head in silence so that her mother 
might not notice the question. 

The children resumed cutting paper dolls, 
which was the only pastime they could in- 
dulge in at present. Paper playthings could 
be burned when they fumigated the house 
and they did not wish to leave contagion to 
others. 

“See my fingers! They look like my 
gloves were wearing out,” said Corinne as 
she spread out her little hands, from which 
the skin was peeling off after an attack of 
scarlet fever. 

“Guess I’ll pull it all off,” said Marjorie; 
“Mamma says we can go to Uncle Don’s 
soon as it is all off.” 

Mrs. Wallace came to the bedside with a 
bowl of gruel. Poor children, they had eaten 
gruel until Corinne told Marjorie under the 
bedcovers that she never knew there was so 


10 


LORAINE’S. DEPARTURE. 


much gruel in all the world; but some way 
or other they understood it was all mother 
could afford, so they swallowed it uncom- 
plainingly. The past few weeks had wit- 
nessed the breaking up of a once happy home 
and the transformation of a family in com- 
fortable circumstances to one of very limited 
means. They had learned that for some 
mysterious reason father would never come 
home again. The day following this discovery 
Corinne came home from school ill. The doctor 
pronounced it scarlet fever. Marjorie and Lo- 
raine were at once sent to their paternal 
grandmother, between whom and the young 
mother existed an implacable enmity. In 
the middle of the night Loraine heard sounds 
of distress, and the remaining slow dragging 
hours were spent in trying to cheer the little 
sufferer beside her. In the morning she told 
Grandma of the new victim and a cab was 
called and Marjorie was taken home. 

‘‘Why, she can’t come in here,” remon- 
strated Mrs. Wallace, as she opened the door 
and found her baby daughter bundled from 
head to foot, standing outside. 

“She has scarlet fever, too,” explained the 
cabman, and hurried away. 


11 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 




Heartbreak, a broken home, sickness and 
no money. One might complain of trifles, 
but such a combination as this was too great 
for words and in silence Mrs. Wallace un- 
dressed the little one and placed her beside 
Corinne. Then followed days of suffering 
for the children, and nights of sleepless vigil 
on the part of Mrs. Wallace. As soon as pos- 
sible Uncle Don had come from a nearby 
town and taken Loraine to his home, and it 
was her farewell to her sisters that we wit- 
nessed at the beginning of this story. 

It was through these weeks that the chil- 
dren learned a great deal of patience. It was 
a new experience to see mother throw herself 
down on the bed and cry. These spells did 
not last long, but they felt that mother 
needed help and they checked their own fret- 
fulness in their efforts to comfort her. 


11 . 

THE SHUT-INS. 

A FTER her great troubles, Mrs. Wallace 
felt she had one hard task before her — 
an important one because she knew it would 
affect her children’s happiness. 

“Girlies,” she began, hesitatingly, “do you 
know it is awfully close to Christmas?” 

“Oh, I’m so glad!” exclaimed Marjorie, 
but mother interrupted: 

“But you won’t be glad this year, dearie, 
because you know we are quarantined, and 
if Santa Claus would come to us he might 
take scarlet fever to some other little girls 
and they might die of it. But,” she hurried 
on to say, “right after Christmas we’ll go on 
the cars to see Loraine and Aunt Gertrude 
and Uncle Don and all the cousins and that 
will be a whole lot of fun.” 

“Oh, that will be nice, and will we go 
really, really soon?” asked Marjorie. 

“Yes, very soon after Christmas. And 


13 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


now, children, let us say our prayers and then 
go to bed.” 

Mother took the little Episcopal hymnal 
down, and they sang one of their favorite 
hymns, “Art thou weary, art thou languid, 
art thou sore depressed.” Years afterward 
the mention of the h3min always brought to 
the children recollections of these nights. 
There was something so mysterious about 
this shut-in period, with no one but mother, 
and an occasional visit from the doctor. 

There was a solemnity and a sadness — and 
at the same time a sweetness about it — ^which 
they never entirely forgot. When the song 
was finished, mother and the children re- 
peated together “Now I lay me” and “Our 
Father”; a little general prayer followed, 
after which mother kissed them goodnight. 
There had been a time when mother had 
laughingly kissed their eyelids shut with 
“fairy kisses,” as she said, and they would 
not be able to open their eyes until she gave 
them another fairy kiss in the morning, but 
that had been before these troublesome days 
came upon them. 

The day before Christmas arrived. Grand- 
ma Wallace was “puttering” around the 


14 


THE SHUT-INS. 


kitchen in a lonely, aimless fashion but with 
hard, bitter feelings. Mrs. Martin, a pleas- 
ant, sweet-faced neighbor, came in for a 
morning call. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Wallace. Getting 
ready for Christmas?” 

“Yes,” assented the old lady; then adding 
in a dissatisfied tone, “Nobody much to get 
ready for, just me and Henry.” 

“IVe been thinking, Mrs. Wallace, about 
those little sick children,” continued the 
caller, “and I thought you might not feel 
well enough to do it yourself, but if you 
wanted to order anything for their Christ- 
mas dinner I could cook it and we could send 
it over.” 

Grandma Wallace’s face hardened but she 
was ashamed to say no. 

The Christmas stars shone over a beauti- 
ful winter landscape. The trees were clothed 
in snowy whiteness, and the ground sparkled 
with glistening gems underneath. Mrs. Wal- 
lace was almost glad to pull down the shades. 
The out-of-doors seemed too glorious for 
comparison with the cramped quarters in- 
side. The two rooms they had kept in use 
were too crowded for elegance, but they 


15 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


were easy to heat, and would be less trouble 
to fumigate. 

After assuring herself that the outside 
world could not pry upon their meager, 
lonely Christmas, Mrs. Wallace seated her- 
self in a rocking chair by the children’s bed. 
There was a sudden rap at the door. Mother 
hastily opened it, but the visitor had already 
stepped off the porch for fear of the con- 
tagion. There was a little visit at long 
range, and then Mrs. Wallace returned, 
carrying a basket of large, red, exceedingly 
fine apples. 

“Girlies, see what Florence brought, and 
apples like that cost a great deal at this time 
of the year. This is the first year that Flor- 
ence has earned any money and I know she 
would have liked to buy something for them- 
selves.” 

“She wanted to buy a horse and buggy so 
she would not have to walk to her school,” 
said Corinne, thoughtfully. 

“And a new rocking chair ’cause the old 
one had a rocker off,” added Marjorie. 

Another rap was heard. Mrs. Wallace 
again vanished, this time returning with a 


16 


THE SHUT-INS. 


more interesting looking basket. The chil- 
dren were becoming excited. 

“This is almost like Santa Claus,” said 
Marjorie. 

Mother sat down at the side of the bed, 
while the children watched her uncover the 
basket. 

“Oh, there’s a story book,” cried Marjorie. 

“And one for me, too,” said Corinne, for in 
her shy way she never seemed to expect any- 
thing for herself. 

Farther down were some candy and fruit 
and a Christmas booklet for mamma, and a 
letter to the girlies from the Sunday school 
teacher who had been the bearer of the bas- 
ket. 

“We’re having a pretty nice Christmas, I 
think,” said Corinne. 

“Yes,” said mamma; “you couldn’t keep 
anything expensive, an5rway, for we don’t 
want to carry scarlet fever to anyone else.” 

A mysterious sound was heard on the 
window pane and as the shade was thrown 
up, some colored balls were seen bouncing 
up and down. The children laughed and 
mamma opened the window, when the balls 
were thrown in with a “Merry Christmas” 


17 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


from the next door neighbor. Corinne and 
Marjorie were now rather tired and after 
playing with their balls a few minutes, were 
glad to go to sleep. 

‘‘There aren’t any stockings to look into 
this Christmas,” said Corinne, on awaken- 
ing the next morning. 

‘1 don’t care ; I think it’s a nice Christmas 
anyway,” and Marjorie sat up and looked 
around for her presents. 

Mother served their breakfast of oatmeal, 
thinking with dismay of what their Christ- 
mas dinner would be. The children rather 
longed for the excitement of the night be- 
fore and hoped for another of Santa’s mes- 
sengers, but if any came it must have been 
at the back door, as the children strained 
their ears but heard nothing. 

Towards noon mother came to the bed 
with the little pathetic smile she now so 
often wore. 

“You girlies must turn your faces to the 
wall now until the table is set,” she said, “or 
if you get tired, you must cover up your 
faces, but don’t you look until dinner is 
ready.” 

This was really interesting — a different 


18 


THE SHUT-INS. 


Christmas than they had ever had — kind of 
a hide-and-seek affair. They covered up 
their faces and told stories and riddles until 
dinner was announced. They were not ex- 
pecting much but they had learned to ap- 
preciate little things. Mother picked up 
each kimono-draped form and seated them 
at the table. 

“Mamma, where did you get that 
chicken?” demanded Marjorie. 

“And pumpkin pie and lemon ice?” asked 
Corinne. 

“And — and — that great big beautiful box 
of candy,” again demanded Marjorie. 

“Grandma Wallace and Mrs. Martin sent 
the chicken and the pie,” answered mamma, 
“and Corinne’s teacher sent the ice. The box 
of candy was given to me by Uncle Don 
when he was here.” 

“Well, I think this is a beautiful Christ- 
mas,” declared Corinne, almost reverently. 

‘It is a beautiful Christmas,” repeated 
Mrs. Wallace; “beautiful because we know 
our friends have not forgotten us in their 
own happiness.” 

When the children went back to bed, they 
found a regiment of paper soldiers standing 


19 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


on the window sill guarding their fort. 

“From Linden” was the greeting on the 
box, in the childish scrawl of the next door 
neighbor boy, whom they played and quar- 
reled with alternately. 

“I love Linden,” said Marjorie. 

“So do I, and I don’t care if he did lassoo 
me coming home from school. Next time I 
won’t tell on him;” then changing the sub- 
ject, “I wonder what Loraine is doing.” 

“Playing with a whole lot of cousins, I sup- 
pose,” said mamma. “But never mind, we 
will go, too, pretty soon; just as soon as 
those fingers quit peeling off.” 


20 


III. 

MARJORIE MAKES HER DEBUT. 

^ I 'HE days which followed were monoto- 
nous enough, days in which mamma 
bathed the hands and arms and feet of the 
children to assist in the desquamation or 
scaling off process, for after it ceased, she 
was assured the quarantine would be lifted. 
Two weeks longer the siege lasted and then 
Mrs. Wallace showed the children what 
energy and determination and youth could 
do, for Mrs. Wallace was still very young. 

The house was fumigated, the furniture 
sold or disposed of, and in a few days’ time 
Mrs. Wallace and the children were aboard 
for Uncle Will’s. A little crowd of boys and 
girls in a light spring wagon were waiting 
at the station as the train drew in. 

“Oh, there’s Loraine,” cried both children 
from the car window, and in the joy of meet- 
ing the sister and cousins, the confinement 
of the past six weeks were forgotten. 


21 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 

It was certainly pleasant to be with rela- 
tives once more, who felt that one’s troubles 
were theirs, and that one had a right to claim 
their sympathy, but Mrs. Wallace was not 
one to impose upon even her relatives, so 
early in February she and the little five-year- 
old went to Norton where Uncle Don lived, 
as she considered it a better place to obtain 
employment. Loraine and Corinne would 
remain at Uncle Will’s until the term of 
school was over. 

For a time it was a novelty and lots of fun, 
but soon there were days when little Mar- 
jorie wished her own mother could get her 
ready for school and kiss her goodbye, in- 
stead of hurrying away to work so early in 
the morning. Aunt Jennie had several chil- 
dren of her own to care for and Marjorie de- 
cided there was a difference between a 
mother and an aunt. Loraine and Corinne 
soon felt the same way ; they needed a 
mother’s sympathy in their little quarrels 
and mistakes, and sometimes they felt so 
dreadfully in the way. They wanted to be 
at home and take their little sister, with her 
long red curls, to school themselves, instead 
of letting their cousins have that honor. 


MARJORIE MAKES HER DEBUT. 

They read mamma’s letter over and over, 
telling of Marjorie’s escapade. At the close 
of the first school week, the teacher had 
asked if anyone was prepared to “speak a 
piece.” Marjorie was modest, but not so 
cousin Lila. A pudgy hand went up in the 
air. “Marjorie knows one.” 

So Marjorie was invited to the floor. She 
walked up to the platform with all the dig- 
nity of her five years, and delivered the 
oration which had so impressed Lila. 

There were three crows sat on a tree, 

And they were black as crows could be ; 

Said one young crow unto his mate, 

“What shall we have for bread to ate?” 

“There is a horse in yonder lane. 

And it has been but freshly slain; 

We’ll perch ourselves on his backbone. 

And pluck his eyes out one by one.” 

She left the platform with the conscious- 
ness of a duty well done, her only regret 
being that mother was not there to share in 
her triumph. Miss Turner was proud of her, 
too ; she knew that by the little smile on her 
teacher’s lips all the time she had been speak- 
ing. She had further proof of it at recess, 


23 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


for Miss Turner caught her up in her arms 
and stood her on her own desk and asked 
her if she would not speak again for the 
superintendent and one or two of the other 
teachers, who were standing near. This was 
certainly very gratifying, and Marjorie re- 
peated the performance. Her refined ap- 
pearance contrasted oddly with the ludicrous 
doggerel, and the teachers smiled in full ap- 
preciation. Marjorie, with the keen percep- 
tion of a born actress, felt she was scoring a 
success, and accepting the smiles as an en- 
core, responded with another choice se- 
lection : 

“Old Daddy Grimes, he had a cow, 

But he did have no barn; 

And every time that darned old cow 
Would butt him with her horn.” 

This brought down the house, but the 
teacher’s curiosity triumphed over her polite- 
ness, and she asked: 

“Did your mother teach you those pieces, 
Marjorie?” 

“Oh, no; she doesn’t know I know any. 
Corinne and Loraine used to read ’em off a 
big card they had, with some tobacco pic- 
tures on it.” 


24 


MARJORIE MAKES HER DEBUT. 


How the children laughed when mamma 
told them all about it in a letter, and how 
they longed for mamma and Marjorie. How 
Loraine remembered when the little sister 
cried because she could not sleep with her 
arm around the older girl’s neck — “I can’t 
sleep any other way,” she had said. .And 
now it had been two whole months since 
they had seen her. 


25 


IV. 


CLYDE ENTERTAINS. 

A T last vacation came, and mother and 
children were reunited and began house- 
keeping by themselves. Loraine, who was 
now ten years old, tried to take mother’s 
place, but it was an impossible task and Mrs. 
Wallace often found her responsibilities al- 
most too great. They occupied two rooms 
on the ground floor of a rather large, pleas- 
ant looking residence. The front room, Mrs. 
Wallace, with her old-time pride, kept for a 
parlor, utilizing the couch for a bed. The 
other room served as kitchen, dining room 
and bed room. In the morning, the mother 
arose, and with the aid of the children, pre- 
pared the morning meal. She then hurried 
to the office where she began work at seven 
o’clock. At noon she visited the meat 
market and bakery, and the quartette would 
sit down to a dinner of steak, some canned 
goods and pie. In the evenings she sewed 


26 


CLYDE ENTERTAINS. 


and ironed, and her Sundays were passed in 
carrying coal (which was too heavy work for 
the children) and cooking and baking for the 
week to come. The strain was proving al- 
most too much for her strength. There were 
many who sympathized with her, but none 
who had time to help. That is, no one but 
Clyde. He had plenty of time, but how could 
a fourteen-year-old boy help a woman with 
housework? No self-respecting boy could 
do such a thing. Yet how could a self-re- 
specting boy sit around and waste time and 
strength just because a woman was no rela- 
tion of his? Clyde soliloquized over the mat- 
ter several days and then decided on a course 
of action. 

The next Saturday morning, after Mrs. 
Wallace had left the house, he marched down 
the hall. 

“Get up, girls, get up,” he called, as he 
pounded on the door. “I have something to 
tell you.” 

Three pairs of feet scrambled onto the 
floor and three dresses were jerked over 
three heads in a frenzied effort of each child 
to be the first to find out what Clyde had 
to tell. 


27 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


“What is it, Clyde?” they demanded, as 
they pulled him into the room and sat down 
on the floor around him. 

“Well, listen; you kids get to work and 
I’ll help you and we’ll have the house all 
clean and dinner all ready when your mother 
comes home. Don’t you know she is working 
too hard, and if we help her on Saturdays, it 
will rest her, you know.” 

They sat for a moment in quiet disappoint- 
ment; they had hoped for more wonderful 
news than this. But soon the novelty of the 
situation appealed to them, and they all 
turned in and did the work better than it had 
ever been done before. 

“Now,” said Clyde, “I’ll comb your hair,” 
but he pulled down the shades carefully so 
no one would know that Clyde Wilson, first 
year in high school, was combing a girl’s 
hair. The children were not allowed to light 
the gasoline stove, but Clyde was old enough 
to perform this feat, and when Mrs. Wallace 
came home she found a warm dinner await- 
ing her. 

This program was followed every Satur- 
day, Clyde bribing the children by promises 
of a ride in a rickety old buggy drawn by a 


28 


CLYDE ENTERTAINS. 


rickety old horse. Encouraged by his suc- 
cess in concealing his housekeeping procliv- 
ities, the boy decided to enlarge his field 
of action. Mrs. Wilson, who, like a wise 
mother, left everything unnoticed that she 
was not supposed to see, could not refrain 
from peeping in the side window after see- 
ing Clyde emerge from the cellar door with a 
tub in his hands, and enter the Wallace 
apartments. To her pleased surprise she 
now saw the boy carefully washing a pair of 
lace curtains. 

When Mrs. Wallace came home and found 
the clean curtains in the archway which 
separated the two rooms, Clyde considered 
it a propitious time to unfold his plans. 

“Mrs. Wallace, if — if you wanted to give 
the children a surprise party, I’d — I’d clean 
up the house and invite the children and 
mother would bake a cake.” 

“Why, Clyde, that’s just as good of you 
as it can be. But I’ll buy a cake, and you can 
have the girls help you clean up and you can 
invite just as many as you want.” 

The boy was highly elated, and every child 
in the neighborhood was invited — every 
child except one. 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


He never thought of Margaret, the little 
girl who lived in the next block. Why, her 
mother took in washing ! Of course, she was 
a widow and a good woman, but she was a 
little different from Loraine’s mother — she 
was not so well educated. He knew Loraine 
had always been pleasant to Margaret, but 
— anyway, he did not invite her. 

And Margaret heard of it. A party, right 
in the next block, and for a little girl who 
had been kinder to her than any other child 
had been. She had never been to a party in 
all her lifetime, and now she was not invited 
to this one. There was a terrible excitement 
in her breast, and a terrible temptation. And 
at last she yielded. 

That night a serious looking little girl 
greeted her mother as she entered the house. 

“Mamma, are they going to have a sur- 
prise party on me?” 

“Why, Loraine, what makes you think 
so?” 

“Well, Margaret says they have asked all 
the children but her and she feels so bad 
about it. She never went to a party in her 
life.” 

“Well, of course we will ask her. I’ll tell 

30 


CLYDE ENTERTAINS. 


Clyde about it. I told him he could do the 
inviting, and I suppose he overlooked her.” 

Clyde was overcome with confusion and 
told a polite little fib by saying he thought 
he had sent Margaret an invitation. 

The day of the party arrived. Clyde curled 
Loraine’s golden brown locks, Corinne’s 
paler gold hair, and Marjorie’s red gold 
tresses. To be sure, his fingers were rather 
clumsy, and the curls were pulled a little 
harder than usual, but even little girls know 
that too much in certain lines cannot be ex- 
pected of a boy and they made no complaint. 

The cake and candy were secreted until 
the children came. Loraine pretended to be 
surprised the best she knew how, and Mar- 
garet and all the children had the “best time 
ever.” When the sun went down Clyde felt 
better because of having made the children 
happy. Loraine was pleased because Mar- 
garet had been invited, and Mrs. Wallace 
thanked God that even a boy could aid in 
bringing some cheer into her children’s 
lives. 


31 


V. 

THE REMOVAL. 

A FTER the party, matters went on in a 
very monotonous manner for a while. 
Mrs. Wallace was finding it a very difficult 
matter to “make both ends meet” through 
the long, cold months of winter. Her salary 
was very small. If Mrs. Wilson had not 
rented her the rooms for less than their real 
value and the family had not had a good sup- 
ply of clothing from the winter before, she 
would have been unable to pay her bills. 
Her friends did some indirect missionary 
work, but they failed in their purpose. 

“I wish you would let Loraine stay with 
me,” suggested a traveling man’s wife who 
was a member of the church of which Mrs. 
Wallace was a member but found no time 
to attend. ‘‘I need a sister for my boys, and 
I am sure I would give her a good home and 
good advantages.” 

“I will never give the girls up,” responded 
the mother. 

32 


THE REMOVAL. 


“But you four can’t live on six dollars a 
week,” insisted Mrs. Kinney, “and you can 
never get more for your work in this town.” 

Mrs. Wallace did not answer the remark, 
but made the same response to the next ac- 
quaintance who offered to take one of the 
children and educate her in music. 

“You can’t provide for those children,” 
insisted friends, but mother love said, “I 
don’t know how, but I will.” 

Deep in her heart she was filled with 
despair, but she was resolved she would 
never give up. At last, when she felt there 
was absolutely no chance to earn a better 
salary in that town, when everything seemed 
entirely hopeless, she seemed to have an in- 
spiration. She sat down to the breakfast 
table that morning attired in her “best dress” 
— a relic of more fortunate days. 

“Are you going to the office with that 
dress on, mamma?” asked Corinne, who was 
early learning lessons of economy. 

“No, dear; I’m not going to the office to- 
day. I’m going to Wellsville. They have 
cheap rates on account of the street fair, and 
I am going down to see if I can’t get a place 
there.” 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


“And will we move there?” 

“Yes, if I get work.” 

“Oh, won’t that be nice. Is it a nice 
town?” 

“It’s a city, dear. It’s about thirty-thou- 
sand population. You know I often told you 
maybe we would move to a city some time.” 

It was only a few hours ride. Mrs. Wal- 
lace had not been in such a large place since 
she was a very small child; and the task of 
looking for employment in a strange city 
was no pleasant one. She found one firm 
who took her name and said she might hear 
from them. She then returned home, and 
again settled down to work, monotony and 
almost despair, but she felt she had done all 
that she could do. 

A few weeks later a messenger boy en- 
tered the office. 

“A long distance call for Mrs. Wallace,” 
he announced. 

Mrs. Wallace felt a quiver of excitement. 
Perhaps there would yet be some way where- 
by she could earn enough to keep her family 
together. She hurried to the telephone 
office, where was located the long distance 
exchange. A masculine voice over the phone 

S4 


THE REMOVAL. 


asked her to meet him at the union station 
the next day as he would be in town for a few 
hours only. He had received her name from 
a firm in Wellsville and desired to talk to her 
in regard to employment. 

The next evening when the children re- 
turned from school, they were surprised to 
find a large, portly man sitting in the parlor. 
They could hardly wait for him to leave, so 
anxious were they to know the object of his 
visit. 

'‘Well, girlies,’^ mother informed them the 
moment the door closed behind him, “we’re 
going to Oklahoma.” 

“To Oklahoma!” they exclaimed, almost 
in unison. 

“How soon?” asked Loraine. 

“I am going in a few days. You children 
will stay at Grandpa’s until the school term 
is over, and then you will come, too.” 

“Won’t it cost an awful lot for us to go?” 

“Marjorie can travel for nothing, and you 
two can go on half fare. I will travel on one- 
third fare — employe’s rates, as Mr. Jenkins 
is an editor.” 

“Will you get any more money, mamma?” 
asked Corinne, who always felt her mother’s 


35 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 

responsibilities as keenly as did Mrs. Wal- 
lace. 

“I will get eight dollars and a half a week 
for a few months, and then ten dollars. It 
is not much, but we can live on that and we 
can’t live on what I make here.” 

Anyway, it was something new to think 
about, and the children were soon busy get- 
ting ready to go to Grandpa’s. 

Grandma was dead and Grandpa was a 
very old man, but Auntie, who was far too 
severe and unkind to take mother’s place, 
looked after the children for a few weeks. 

Mrs. Wallace arrived in Oklahoma. She 
felt rather disheartened as she walked down 
the board walks of the town. It was a town 
of the mushroom type. Little frame restau- 
rants with unplastered walls, partitions of 
flowered calico separating one room from 
the other; a few business houses; numerous 
saloons and three or four churches bravely 
determined to bring a refined civilization 
out of the frontier desperadoism. The resi- 
dences were filled to overflowing, as the new 
population was pouring in faster than they 
could be accommodated with homes. 

There was no opportunity for choice in 


36 


THE REMOVAL. 


the selection of a home. The only vacant 
place seemed to be a plain two-room 
frame, unpainted, unplastered house, built 
L-fashion. What did it matter if it was not 
attractive? Had not Mr. and Mrs. Greene, 
who now lived in the pleasant cottage on the 
corner, called this barn-like affair home for 
several years? And had not their daughter, 
who was now the wife of a prosperous man 
in Texas, been married from this very house? 

Whether it was an occasion for pride or 
not, Mrs. Wallace could not bear to bring the 
children to that unlovely place. She found 
a painter who agreed to put on a coat of 
green paint for a few dollars. 

“The idea of wasting any money on that 
old shack,” expostulated her employer, who 
was a bachelor and so used to frontier life 
that he could have lived in a dugout and 
thought it a palace. 

At night Mrs. Wallace would hurry home 
from the office and put up the window 
shades and place the furniture; she would 
hang the pictures and arrange the little 
trinkets she had kept to give home a more 
attractive look. 


37 


VI. 


SOME STRANGE VISITORS. 

LL, what a funny house,” said little 



^ ^ Marjorie, upon their arrival. 

“It’s a funny town, I think,” said Loraine. 

“This is a nice big yard,” suggested 
Corinne. 

“Well, since you girls seem to be living 
outdoors most of the time, I don’t see that 
the house makes much difference,” remarked 
their mother a few days later. 

The attraction of the outdoors seemed to 
fascinate her as much as it did the children, 
and many an evening she spent gazing alter- 
nately from her work in her lap to the glor- 
ious sunsets in the western sky. 

The house was very loosely built and the 
front door would not lock, but what differ- 
ence did that make in the cowboy country 
where men might drink and gamble but 
scorned to lie or steal? The only outsiders 


38 


SOME STRANGE VISITORS. 


that gave any annoyance were some peculiar 
reptiles that inquisitively poked themselves 
in between loose flooring or leaky doorsills. 
When a toad insists upon entering one’s 
domicile, even though it be a horned toad, 
or a lizard basks in the sun, alligator fashion, 
on one’s parlor floor, it is just cause for a 
slight feeling of exasperation. On the other 
hand, it gave one a decidedly “good fellow- 
ship” feeling to have “Pug,” in spite of any- 
thing you could do, push open the door and 
insist upon making himself at home. Pug’s 
adoption of them, however, soon had a 
severe jolt. 

The portly gentleman, who was now 
mother’s employer, knocked on the door one 
Saturday afternoon. Loraine opened the 
door. 

“How do you do?” she inquired, in her 
best attempt at grown-upness, “won’t you 
come in?” 

Mr. Jenkins hesitated, then said a little 
awkwardly : 

“I have brought you a playmate.” 

Cuddled up in the big man’s arms nestled 
a little puppy. 


39 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


‘‘Oh, isn’t it cute!” said Marjorie, and the 
children all insisted that he come in until 
the dog felt a little more at home with them. 
Mr. Jenkins was still there when mother 
came home. After she had duly admired 
the animal, she suggested that Mr. Jenkins 
name it. 

“I think we had better call her Buster,” 
he announced gravely. 

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Wallace, who had 
grown accustomed to his joking. “Give her 
something prettier than that — something 
more romantic.” 

“That’s a very romantic name,” he con- 
tinued solemnly, “it’s the name of a Greek 
goddess who was the goddess of beauty.” 

“Well, let’s call her Bonnie,” pleaded Mrs. 
Wallace. 

“You may call her what you like, but 
Fliegende and I call her Buster, don’t we?” 
lifting Marjorie up on his lap. 

“He has re-christened us,” explained Co- 
rinne, “Loraine is Auspinarius, I am Hospi- 
darsky, and Marjorie is Fliegende Blaetter.” 

A few days later there was trouble in the 
Wallace Camp. Everybody was out of sorts. 


40 


SOME STRANGE VISITORS. 

The rule among the children when mother 
was gone was to divide everything equally 
SO there should be no quarreling. This ap- 
plied to work, also to their meals. If, after 
the division, one wanted to trade her share 
with another, it was permissible so long as 
it was satisfactory to both parties. But oc- 
casionally it did not appear to be satis- 
factory. 

‘T don’t want this egg,” grumbled Mar- 
jorie, ‘T didn’t want egg anyway for dinner. 
Won’t you trade me your potatoes, Lo- 
raine?” 

‘‘No.” 

“Won’t you, Corinne?” 

“No.” 

“Well, I didn’t want egg. Why didn’t you 
let me cook what I wanted? Mother said 
any time I wanted to cook a little, you must 
let me try.” 

After dinner it was just as bad. Loraine 
didn’t feel like washing dishes. 

“Loraine, we want to wash the dishes now. 
You must help us now,” declared Corinne. 

“I’m too full. If you want me to help you 
will have to wait until I am ready.” 


41 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


There was no Clyde nearby to settle the 
difficulty, but fate sent a substitute. The 
portly man was at the door. He had evi- 
dently heard the wrangling, 

“You children do up your work like good 
girls, and have everything nice when mamma 
comes home, and right after supper I have 
a surprise for you.” 

He passed on to the office and the children 
did up the work. After supper a double- 
seated surrey stopped in front of the yard. 

“Here, Fliegende, you’re going to sit by 
me,” as he lifted her up on the seat. 

They had thought it a funny house and 
a funny town, and now they thought it a 
funny country. 

“What are those funny little things 
out there?” asked Loraine, as Mr. Jenkins 
stopped the horse near an odd looking sec- 
tion of ground. 

“And where do they go?” asked Corinne, 
in amazement. 

“That’s a prairie dog town. Each little 
prairie dog sits by a hole in the ground, 
which is its house, and whenever an unwel- 
come visitor comes they pop down in their 
holes.” 


42 


SOME STRANGE VISITORS. 


“Well, isn’t this a funny place!” solilo- 
quized Marjorie. 

Farther on they saw dugouts, with pretty 
country girls carrying water from a spring, 
or leisurely talking to some young farmer 
on his homeward way. Soon they reached 
the river. The roads, which until now had 
been sandy, became sandier. Mr. Jenkins, 
who had become rather quiet and serious, 
stopped the carriage and lifted the children 
and their mother out. 

“The surrey is too heavy with all of you 
in. It is a little quicky here.” 

“Why, you don’t mean — ” exclaimed Mrs. 
Wallace. 

“Yes, there are quicksands near here. We 
are just entering them.” 

Taking hold of the halter, he led the horses 
in another direction, the wheels of the surrey 
clinging to the ground in a fashion which in- 
dicated the treachery of the sands. Going 
home he regaled the children with the story 
of two young men who, just a week previous, 
had been caught in these same quicksands. 
By unharnessing the horse, they and the 
horse managed to escape. This was at four 
o’clock in the afternoon. By nine o’clock the 


43 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


next morning they returned with apparatus 
to extricate the buggy, but the sands had 
sucked it completely in and they could find 
no trace of it. The story occasioned some 
delicious thrills to run up and down their 
spinal columns, and altogether the children 
felt they had had quite an interesting and 
exciting ride. 


44 


VII. 

ANOTHER REMOVAL. 

WARDS the close of the summer Mrs. 

Wallace decided that their ventilated 
mansion was too airy for the winter, so she 
began looking around for better quarters. 
It would involve more expense but she must 
try to manage it. In talking it over with a 
friend, she remarked that she did not care 
very much how she lived while there as she 
would go to a larger town on the first op- 
portunity. She wanted better school advan- 
tages for the children. 

“Of course,” the friend advised sagacious- 
ly, “you don’t need to tell Mr. Jenkins that; 
he might not advance you as much if he 
thought you were going to leave.” 

It was a new thought to Mrs. Wallace, 
who had never found strategy necessary. 

“Mr. Jenkins has been a good friend to 
me,” she decided, “and I will be fair and 
square with him.” 


45 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


Accordingly, at the first opportunity she 
informed him of her intentions. 

‘‘Well, if that is your intention I can help 
you. I have often thought I would like to 
have a branch office in a city — Kansas City 
I think would be the best place. The live 
stock shippers all come there, and you could 
attend to subscriptions and advertising con- 
tracts, and also write up items for the paper.” 

It was a new field for Mrs. Wallace, “but,” 
she thought, “if he is willing to risk a salary, 
I am willing to give it a trial.” 

“Well, girls,” she announced at the sup- 
per table, I have decided not to rent a bet- 
ter house this winter.” 

“Oh, mamma,” protested the girls, while 
Marjorie declared, “I know that toad and 
lizard will stay in the house all the time as 
soon as it gets cold.” 

“But we are going to move out of town,” 
she continued. 

“Out of town?” 

“Again?” 

“Where?” 

“To Kansas City.” 

“Oh, mamma, that awful big place?” 

“Yes, it is big; you know I told you be- 


ANOTHER REMOVAL. 


fore to be good and keep well up in your 
studies, and some day we would go to a city 
where you might have a better chance.” 

“And then we came down to this tiny 
place, and I thought we would stay here 
forever,” laughed Loraine. 

As usual, everything was done in a hurry. 
The furniture was packed and mother 
started for Kansas City. The children were 
to stay a week longer with a friend until 
mother had rooms ready for them. Such 
a wonderful week. It was presidential elec- 
tion night. The children were rather glad 
mother was gone for it gave them an oppor- 
tunity to display their patriotism in a more 
energetic manner than she would have con- 
sidered proper. In company with a few kin- 
dred spirits they promenaded up and down 
the street, chanting, “Hurrah for McKinley, 
he’s the man; Bryan died in an oyster can.” 
They ventured a little further from home and 
beheld a gentleman who had hitherto been 
considered a model of decorum, cutting a 
pigeon wing in the middle of the street. At 
this stage of the program they encountered 
Mr. Jenkins, who insisted that they face 
about and return home. 


47 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 

The next day they started for Kansas 
City, under the protecting wing of Mr. Jen- 
kins. The trip was uneventful except for 
one incident. Of course Bonnie had to be 
taken along. As soon as they were seated, 
Mr. Jenkins looked at the dog seriously. 

“Auspinarius,” he commanded, “you had 
better put your coat over that dog; if the 
conductor sees him he will throw him off the 
train and this car is going pretty fast.” 

Each little heart nearly stopped beating. 
Bonnie was cuddled down in the seat beside 
Loraine and a black coat tucked over her. 
Soon Mr. Jenkins sauntered down to the 
smoking car and the children were left alone 
with the awful responsibility. The conduc- 
tor came along. He eyed the children 
curiously, and then the black bundle more 
curiously. He walked on down the aisle, 
and then returned. Again he looked at the 
bundle. 

“What is that under that coat?” he asked. 
'T thought I saw something move.” 

Loraine looked out of the window and the 
children pretended they had not heard. The 
knight of the punch watched them intently 
a few moments and then bent over the black 


48 


ANOTHER REMOVAL. 


bundle which was becoming more animated 
every second. Marjorie had just decided to 
confess and throw herself and Bonnie upon 
his mercy, but at this moment the portly 
gentleman returned, whereupon the conduc- 
tor winked very expressively and passed on. 
When they changed cars, however, there was 
a strange conductor who had not the honor 
of Mr. Jenkins’ personal acquaintance, and 
the dog was unhesitatingly consigned to the 
baggage car. 

Kansas City! After their sojourn in the 
‘‘vdldest, woolliest” little town they had ever 
known, Kansas City was marvelous. 

“No prairie dogs here,” commented Co- 
rinne. 

“No going around the house to get a 
bucket of water that was hauled in from the 
springs day before yesterday,” said Loraine. 

“No toads or lizards, but I believe it would 
be more fun if there were,” said Marjorie, 
who was a little dubious about these sky- 
scrapers and paved streets. 

The children found life in a city less inter- 
esting than on the plains. Cooped upstairs 
in two rooms without any outdoors except 
the paved streets where neighborhood chil- 


49 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


dren congregated after dark — this was not 
as pleasant as prairie dog towns and big 
yards. True, their housekeeping rooms were 
more convenient, but as far as pleasure was 
concerned, they had more happiness in their 
Western home. They very seldom saw Mr. 
Jenkins now. After a trial, the experiment 
of a branch office seemed impracticable in 
consequence of which Mrs. Wallace obtained 
other employment and Mr. Jenkins’ work 
was discontinued. The new position, al- 
though promising well for the future, was 
for a time less lucrative than the former one. 
Mrs. Wallace was naturally adapted to the 
work and was soon filling the place more 
satisfactorily than the man who had been 
her predecessor. But she was a woman, so 
her employers paid her half the salary she 
was earning and she, not being known in 
business circles, could not afford to protest. 

After receiving her meager salary one 
Saturday evening she left the office and wan- 
dered down a side street. She knew the tears 
were ready to flow and she did not wish to 
attract attention from curious passersby as 
she stood on the corner waiting for a car; 
the winds chilled her gloveless fingers until 


50 


ANOTHER REMOVAL. 


they were stiff. She raised them to her lips 
to warm them by her breath, when a kindly 
woman drew her hands from her muff. 

“Let me rub them for you,” she said, and 
taking the purpling fingers between her own 
warm palms, she brought back the retarded 
circulation. But the incident had restored 
all Mrs. Wallace’s pride and self-restraint, 
and self-pity and tears were promptly ban- 
ished. It was not long, however, until there 
was less occasion for self-commiseration, and 
her salary was more nearly commensurate 
with her services. Loraine, although only 
twelve, was now almost ready for high 
school and Mrs. Wallace found the increas- 
ing demands of the children outstripping the 
increase in her salary. The two-room suite 
was comfortably but plainly furnished, and 
the children and she always looked neat and 
refined. Beyond that there was not a cent 
of surplus. 


51 


VIII. 

THE SECOND CHRISTMAS. 

T T was nearly Christmas time. Little Mar- 
jorie had grown accustomed to the idea 
that Santa Claus could not be expected to 
find them in a small suite of an apartment 
house, but the children themselves were 
planning great things for mother, when she 
would give them the money for their Christ- 
mas shopping. And then came the shock. 

“Girlies,” she told them, “you will get your 
Christmas presents about the same as usual, 
but I don’t care for anything. Why, I have 
had so many Christmases that I am just 
tired of them. So I will give each of you ten 
cents to get me something and that is all I 
want.” 

“But mamma!” they protested. 

“Really, children, I haven’t another cent 
to spare, but I don’t care ; in a few years you 
girls will be older and then you can buy me 
lots of pretty things.” 


52 


THE SECOND CHRISTMAS. 


“Such a Christmas for mamma after the 
nice ones we used to have,” said Loraine, 
soberly. 

“Do you remember, Marjorie, how we 
used to hang up our stockings and Santa 
Claus would fill them, but he wouldn’t fill 
papa’s and mamma’s, because they were 
grown up?” asked Corinne. 

“And papa would help us fill mamma’s 
stocking and then mamma would not look, 
but would help us fill papa’s stocking. Do 
you remember?” 

“’Course I do. And I remember when 
papa and us hid the silver knives and forks 
in the closet until Christmas eve.” 

The three children went shopping with 
Loraine as chaperon. They had already 
bought presents for each other or they would 
have taken part of that money for mother. 
After considering very carefully, the three 
ten cent presents were bought and the chil- 
dren returned home. Their gifts for mother 
looked miserable and small. The day before 
Christmas the postman brought a letter. 

“Oh, it’s from Aunt Sadie,” exclaimed 
Loraine, as she inspected the handwriting. 

“It’s kind of fat,” remarked Corinne, 


63 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


“maybe there’s something in it for Christ- 
mas.” 

“Let’s open it,” suggested Marjorie. 

“No; mamma has always said we should 
never open other people’s letters.” 

“Let’s not tell her about it, but put it in 
her stocking.” 

“And let’s pray that there will be some- 
thing nice in it for mamma,” insisted Mar- 
jorie. 

“Now, look here, Marjorie,” said Loraine, 
feeling it was high time to put a stop to such 
imposition, “do you think the Lord is a 
magician like that man out at the park? Do 
you think he is going to change one thing to 
something else right there in that envelope? 
Whatever is in that envelope is in there, and 
it is going to stay there. It won’t change 
into anything else.” 

“You don’t know,” said Marjorie, and she 
prayed just the same : 

“Dear God, please do have something in 
that envelope for mamma.” 

“Get up ! Get up, girls,” urged Loraine, the 
next morning who scrambled out of bed with 
as much alacrity as if she were five instead 
of twelve, and had not learned the said truth 


54 


THE SECOND CHRISTMAS. 


that Santa Claus cannot always find all the 
poor children in a great city. The other 
children shared in her excitement and 
mother, who was almost too tired to sit up, 
pretended to be as excited as they. 

The contents of the children’s stockings 
showed why mother had only thirty cents 
to give the children to purchase her pres- 
ents. 

“Oh, see my dolly,” exclaimed Marjorie, 
“and a swing for it.” 

“And I have a doll and some paints,” sup- 
plemented Corinne. 

“See what I have in place of my beads,” 
and Loraine drew a fine gold necklace from 
her stocking and clasped it around her 
throat. Mrs. Wallace, who hated cheap dis- 
play, felt repaid when the beads were tossed 
over to Marjorie to adorn her dolly’s neck. 
A pair of gloves as a joint present from Mar- 
jorie and Corinne completed her list. There 
were nuts and candies besides, which helped 
out their meager dinner, for Mrs. Wallace 
had strained her exchequer to the utmost in 
order to give the children a pleasant Christ- 
mas. 

And now it was mother’s turn. A ten 


55 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


cent handkerchief from each of the two older 
girls and then little Marjorie sat down on the 
floor to note the reception of her present. 
Mrs. Wallace unwrapped the package very 
slowly. She felt the importance of the oc- 
casion to the child who watched her with 
such anxious eyes. She bit her lip to keep 
back the smile — two mischievous kittens 
beamed at her from the center of a blue and 
gold plate. 

“They’re beautiful, dearie, just beautiful,” 
she said, and Marjorie felt satisfied that she 
had used good judgment in preferring art to 
utility. 

But suspense was not yet over. The chil- 
dren waited in breathless expectancy until 
mother drew the envelope from the extreme 
depth of the stocking. 

“Oh, a letter from Aunt Sadie,” he said. 
“When did you get it?” 

“Yesterday.” 

“And you didn’t open it? That shows self 
control.” 

She hastily tore it open and revealed three 
dollars in bills. 

“Oh, mamma, we’re so glad,” exclaimed 
the older girls, but Marjorie explained, “I 


56 


THE SECOND CHRISTMAS. 


prayed for it to be something for you,” and 
looked at Loraine in a reproachful way for 
her unbelief. 

“There’s the postman,” said Corinne, who 
had been furtively watching the stairway. 

Loraine seized the package and tore it 
open. 

“A dressing sacque for mamma from Aunt 
Jennie,” she announced. 

This ended the surprises for the day. Af- 
ter dinner the children passed the time in 
playing and visiting the neighbor children 
and mother was so tired she was glad to 
rest. 


IX. 

MARJORIE’S VISIT. 

winter passed very quietly for the 
children, who were busy with their 
school work. For Mrs. Wallace it was a 
strenuous time, and she seemed to grow 
more tired every day. 

One day as Loraine was wiping the dishes, 
a burly form darkened the doorway. 

“Lay down that dish towel, Auspinarius, 
and come here and shake hands with me,’’ 
commanded a stentorian voice. 

Loraine responded in a hurry, and Corinne 
and Marj*orie scrambled out from the other 
room to see one they thought had forgotten 
them. 

“Now, Hospidarsky, do you realize that 
your birthday and mine come very close to- 
gether and it is now about halfway between? 
So, look here! We are going to celebrate 
our birthday dinner tonight. You two 


58 


MARJORIE’S VISIT. 


kiddos set the table and Auspinarius will do 
the cooking. We won’t need much.” 

He picked up a basket from outside the 
door. 

“A roast turkey.” 

“Yes; put it in the oven. It is still warm 
and will soon be hot.” 

“Celery, white grapes, jelly, nuts, olives 
and pie,” enumerated Loraine, as she 
emptied the basket. 

“Now, you cook some potatoes and we’ll 
have dinner all ready when mother comes 
home.” 

“You’re pretty near an angel, aren’t you?” 
said Marjorie, looking at him curiously. 

“Yes, pretty close to one just now. No, 
Fliegende, angels aren’t baldheaded.” 

When mother arrived, the table was all set 
and dinner ready. 

“Sit down,” ordered the autocrat at the 
dinner table, “our slaves will wait on us.” 

As he noted her tired look, he instantly 
formed a plan. 

“You must let Fliegende come down and 
stay on my ranch this summer. I have a 
good Swedish family on the place, and they 
have two children of their own, and will take 


69 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 

good care of her. She needs the country 
air and will come back in better health and 
you will be better for having had less care.” 

She hated to let her go, but thought it 
would do the child good, and she knew that 
saving the child’s board would be a financial 
help to her. 

“But suppose she gets homesick.” 

“I will bring her right back. But I don’t 
believe she will. Fliegende has a happy dis- 
position and she will like the children and 
have a better time than on the city streets.” 

When Marjorie was told of the plan 
she was delighted. She was a child who 
took a great interest in everything, and 
a return trip to the land of toads and lizards 
promised a great deal of enjoyment. Lo- 
raine and Corinne envied her the visit, but 
Mr. Jenkins, in the kindness of his heart, had 
indirectly provided for them. It was an easy 
matter when passing through the town 
where Uncle Don lived, to stop off at Uncle 
Don’s place of business and inform him of 
his plan in regard to Marjorie. By dwell- 
ing on the detail of Mrs. Wallace’s needing 
a rest and the necessity of the children leav- 
ing the hot city for the summer months, an 


60 


MARJORIE’S VISIT. 


urgent invitation was extended in a letter to 
the two older girls. No one but Mrs. Wal- 
lace credited the invitation to Mr. Jenkins’ 
efforts. The children’s sojourn, being in a 
too highly cultured vicinity, was so uninter- 
esting as to be unworthy of record. But to 
Marjorie, who reveled in country life, ranch 
life in a new country was a source of con- 
tinual enjojment. On the morning of her 
departure Mr. Jenkins called for her early. 
He would take her down to the train with- 
out waiting for breakfast. Mother could go 
right to the office after kissing her baby 
good-bye. Now was the opportunity of Mr. 
Jenkins’ life. He would demonstrate how to 
rear a healthy, happy child. Taking the lit- 
tle girl into a restaurant he ordered two im- 
mense breakfasts. 

“Now, Fliegende, eat; eat every scrap of 
it. I want to bring you back healthy and 
strong.” 

Marjorie was too thoroughly excited to 
have any appetite, but she tried to comply 
with his request, and ate a little of the huge 
portions in front of her. 

“That won’t do at all,” he insisted, “eat 


61 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


every scrap of it. Growing children must 
have plenty to eat.” 

Again she tried, and again she protested, 
but her portly friend was firm. It was the 
first time in his life he had had complete 
charge of a child, and he fully intended to 
bring her back a miniature reproduction of 
his generous self. 

So Marjorie ate, but on their way to the 
train her stomach rebelled in a manner 
which brooked no interference from Mr. Jen- 
kins, and the morning meal was deposited 
on the sidewalk. Her new guardian had too 
keen a sense of the ridiculous not to be 
amused at the failure of his plan. However, 
he still had faith in his other ideas. 

Marjorie’s new life certainly promised 
variety. She found she was to divide her 
time between two households. Mr, Jenkins 
now maintained an establishment in town, 
which was the nearest approach to a home 
that he could command. In a cottage which 
he owned he had ensconced an elderly 
woman as housekeeper, and a few of the 
employes from the office boarded with them. 
Marjorie found herself in the hands of the 


62 


MARJORIE’S VISIT. 


Philistines — a helpless child in the care of 
several bachelors and old maids. 

Miss Combs had strong ideas of what con- 
stituted a lady. 

‘‘Now, Margie, sit right down at the piano 
and play; that’s a little lady.” 

“But I’m awfully tired, and I can’t play, 
anyway.” 

, “Are you tired, dearie? Well, then play 
on the organ awhile.” 

Marjorie escaped one day and was found 
happily employed with the neighbor children 
in making red ink from redhaws, when Miss 
Combs discovered her. 

“Oh, Margie, come right in the house like 
a little lady. Come in and lie down a while.” 

Miss Thorn’s chief pleasure was to curl 
the child’s hair. The natural curl had been 
somewhat spoiled by braiding, but every 
night Marjorie’s hair was done up, and in 
the morning carefully combed before Miss 
Thorn left for the office. 

“What a pack of idiots!” snorted the 
“boss,” “I didn’t bring her here for such fool- 
ishness.” 

So Marjorie was whisked into a buggy and 
taken out to the ranch. 


63 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


“Now, Fliegende,” he cautioned, “don’t 
you dare wear a sunbonnet nor shoes or 
stockings while you are here. Stay outdoors 
all you can and don’t forget your sand 
baths.” 

She did not need any urging. She did not 
want to be a lady, did not want to play the 
piano, did not want her hair curled. All day 
long she and the little Swedish girl played 
outdoors, ate plenty of good, plain food, and 
drank good rich milk. 

“Now, we’ll have to take our sand baths,” 
Marjorie informed her companion. 

“What’s that?” asked Hilda. 

“Well, I’ll show you.” 

Going around to the sunny side of the 
house, she carefully followed her instructor’s 
directions. She and Hilda laid down on the 
ground and covered themselves with sand 
until only their faces were visible. Shutting 
their eyes, they lay in the sun until they were 
“thoroughly baked,” as Hilda said. Mr. 
Jenkins had great faith in close contact with 
nature, and he expected great results from 
this combination of sun and sand baths. 

“What in the world are you doing, chil- 


MARJORIE’S VISIT. 

dren?” demanded Mrs. Jensen, who had just 
discovered their whereabouts. 

‘‘Taking our sand baths; Mr. Jenkins told 
us to,” explained Marjorie, in an injured 
tone. 

“Well, they looked like little graves, until 
I saw your faces. If you knew how you 
looked with just your faces showing. Get 
up and shake the sand out of your hair if 
you can. I want you to go on an errand 
for me.” 

When the children were ready, she showed 
them a small wooden box to which Mr. Jen- 
sen had attached a strong piece of twine. 

“I want you to go to Reynolds’; Hilda 
knows the way. Then borrow their meat 
chopper and put it in the box and pull it 
home. It won’t be so heavy for you.” 

Both children laughed at their novel con- 
veyance and started down the country road. 
Marjorie was enjoying every bit of it, all the 
more for her recent city experience. Bare 
head, bare legs, unsoilable frocks, sandy 
roads, grass and trees and sunshine — who 
could wish for anything else! 

“Oh, see that big spider!” suddenly ex- 
claimed Hilda. 


66 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


Marjorie turned and saw in the road what 
she afterwards learned was a tarantula. At 
present it was simply an enormous spider 
which offered her a chance to show Hilda, 
who was a little younger than herself, how 
brave she was. The rest of this incident 
must be credited to Marjorie ; it is as she told 
it, and as it appeared to her. She boldly ap- 
proached the insect and dropped her box up- 
on it, then pressed her foot on the box and 
supposed the spider was exterminated. But 
either the spider was too tough or the sand 
too yielding. At any rate, when the box 
was removed, Mr. Tarantula was found to 
be unhurt and made a bound toward the 
children, leaping over their heads, and then 
bounding again. The children ran, terrified, 
fearing that in its bounding it might land 
upon their heads. At last they escaped and 
reached the neighbors’ without any more 
hair-raising experiences. This may be a 
nature-faking story, but it is just as Marjorie 
told it, and Marjorie was a very truthful lit- 
tle girl. 

A few days more and Marjorie was 
thoroughly acclimated. So much so, in fact, 
that when she noticed a stringy looking ob- 


MARJORIE’S VISIT. 


ject in the air which upon investigation 
proved to be a snake suspended by its tail 
from the limb of a tree, she took it as a mat- 
ter of course, and forgot to even mention it 
when she returned to the house. 

Loraine, who was visiting in a small town, 
was enjoying herself in a less exciting way. 
Corinne, however, seemed rather pensive. 

“I never could understand that child,” 
commented Aunt Jennie. “I can scold Lo- 
raine, and pet Marjorie, but I can never get 
close to Corinne. I don’t know whether she 
is homesick or really sick.” 

‘‘Just homesick, I guess,” returned Uncle 
Don. “You know her mother always had 
to urge her to play with the others, when 
they visited here. She will get over it if you 
insist on her going out with the children.” 

But one day Aunt Jennie went upstairs 
and found the little girl lying on the bed and 
knew now that she was really ill. The doctor 
pronounced it typhoid. 

“We can’t worry Ethel,” they decided, 
and day after day passed in the vain hope 
that it would prove only a light attack, and 
it would not be necessary to notify Mrs. 
Wallace. 


67 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


Poor Corinne! It was bad enough to be 
sick, but to be ill away from one’s mother 
was still worse. She lay on the bed during 
one of her easier intervals — her gaze wan- 
dering through the open window and rest- 
ing on the field adjoining her Uncle’s 
grounds. She was thinking of mother and 
imagining she could almost see her with her 
light dress and the pink trimming on her hat 
and her quick step. It is hard to tell whether 
one is dreaming or awake when one has 
typhoid, but that vision was drawing nearer 
and nearer and then disappeared — in another 
moment mother was leaning over the bed. 

After that Corinne was alone no more; 
she didn’t know when mother slept, but she 
was always there. 

Mr. Jenkins entered the ranch house one 
morning early. 

‘‘Ready to go back home, Fliegende?” he 
queried. 

“Yes,” exclaimed Marjorie, becoming ex- 
cited at the thought of seeing mother and 
her sisters once more. 

“Well, Hospidarsky has been very sick 
but is better now. She almost died, but is 


68 


MARJORIE’S VISIT. 


now nearly well and mother says if I bring 
you to Norton she will take you all back to 
Kansas City pretty soon.” 

“And they never told me Corinne was 
sick. And I have been playing and having 
a good time and never knew anything about 
it. Why, she might have died while I was 
running away from that tarantula. Why 
didn’t they tell me?” 

• “I should think they would have known 
better than not to tell a little girl with gin- 
gerbread hair. You go right up there and 
tell them what you think about it, Flie- 
gende.” 

Mr. Jenkins and Fliegende drove into town 
together. Miss Combs met them at the 
door. 

“Oh, you poor, dear child ! How you must 
have felt to be playing and having a good 
time and your poor sister almost dead. Oh, 
Mr. Jenkins, just look at the tan on that poor 
child’s face, and her such a little lady when 
she came. Oh, Margie, your own mother 
won’t know you ; you’re so fat and redfaced.” 

“That’s what I wanted; just exactly what 
I wanted, Madame. That spells health; no 
typhoid about that,” asserted Mr. Jenkins. 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


Marjorie was to leave on the morning train 
for Norton. Accordingly, so that she might 
reflect credit on her bachelor fathers and old 
maid mothers, Miss Thorn did her hair up 
on numberless strips of calico. In the morn- 
ing she was scrubbed and curled, and arrayed 
in a new dress Mr. Jenkins had had made 
for her. She reached Norton early in the 
evening. Corinne was convalescing and the 
family were all assembled in her room. They 
had a special guest of honor on this par-' 
ticular occasion. Their old friend, Clyde 
Wilson of wash day fame, having heard of 
their presence in the city, had called. He 
was now a tall boy of eighteen. 

Mrs. Wallace was the first to be aware of 
Marjorie’s arrival. She rushed downstairs 
to greet her baby daughter and then ushered 
her into the sick room. As she took in the 
full effect of Mr. Jenkins’ guardianship, she 
felt a strong impulse to laugh. 

“Marjorie, your face looks like an Amer- 
ican flag, only the field is red instead of blue, 
and decorated with freckle stars.” 

Marjorie was a good natured little girl 
and could appreciate a joke on herself as well 
as on anyone else, so she joined in the laugh. 

70 


MARJORIE’S VISIT. 

Then she asked, “How do you like my 
dress?” 

“It is about eight inches longer than it 
should be.” 

“Well,” said Marj*orie, “Mr. Jenkins al- 
ways scolded about my dresses being too 
short, so when he asked Miss Lucy to make 
this, he said she must make it good and long, 
but when he saw it on me, he just laughed 
and laughed, but he wouldn’t say what he 
was laughing about. Then he gave me a 
dime to go up to the post office and they all 
laughed up there.” 

“We know what they were laughing 
about, especially if you had the combination 
of those wonderful curls. How did you get 
them?” 

“Miss Thorn did that last night. Last 
time I had curls like this Mr. Jenkins asked 
me if I v/anted to earn a quarter ; I said yes, 
so he had me come down to the office and 
he set me on a stool and showed my curls to 
everyone who came in. Miss Thorn nearly 
cried about it but he said if I didn’t care, he 
didn’t see why she should.” 

“Well, we will tame down those curls a 
little and shorten the dress in the morning. 


71 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


Your tan will gradually wear off and you 
will be our own little girl again. I must say, 
however, that you are the fattest, solidest, 
healthiest looking youngster in the bunch.” 

Marjorie by this time was exchanging con- 
fidences with Corinne. 

“Was it very bad to be sick, Corinne?” 

“I don’t think I knew how sick I was, but 
it seemed as if I was in bed an awful long 
time.” 

“But they were all awful good to you, 
weren’t they?” 

“Yes, they were; better than they are 
now.” And the pale face grew very 
solemn with an “I-could-say-a-good-deal-if- 
I-wanted-to” expression. 

“Why, Corinne,” said Marjorie, in a 
shocked voice, which was almost a whisper, 
“aren’t they good to you now?” 

“Marjorie, if my life was insured like 
mamma’s is, I would think they were trying 
to starve me to death.” 

“Well, what do you want, Corinne?” 

“Oh, pickles and beefsteak and cake.” 

“I guess they just don’t know how hungry 
she is. I guess mamma got so tired taking 


72 


MARJORIE’S VISIT. 


care of her, she is just worn out,” decided 
Marjorie and she slipped downstairs and in- 
to the kitchen. She was hurrying back with 
a plate loaded with indigestibles when 
mother waylaid her and confiscated the food. 

The next day Mr. Jenkins came by with a 
horse and buggy and took mother for a ride. 
Loraine wanted an invitation to accompany 
them, but was too polite to ask for it. When 
mother came home, she was very quiet, and 
it was a long time before they saw Mr. Jen- 
kins again. The Wallace family returned to 
their home in the city and the rest of the 
summer passed very uneventfully. Mother 
took them to a park occasionally Saturday 
afternoons, and let them patronize some of 
the amusements, but she never spent a nickel 
on herself, they noticed. Cat-a-cornered 
from their flat was an old church building 
and the neighborhood children congregated 
on the steps after dark or played hide and 
seek in the shadows. These diversions and 
occasionally attending Sunday school made 
up the sum total of existence. 


73 


X. 


CHRISTMAS THE THIRD. 

HE holidays were approaching again. 



^ As Mrs. Wallace compared their en- 
vironments with that of the year before she 
felt that they were a trifle pleasanter. They 
now occupied a three-room suite and had re- 
placed the old ingrain rug with a new Brus- 
sels. The home-made bookcase, with a 
dainty curtain, a few rocking chairs, a stand 
and a couch made the parlor a pleasant place, 
if not a luxurious one. Although the chil- 
dren’s housekeeping, in connection with their 
school work, was not all it should be, the 
parlor was always clean and orderly and 
Mrs. Wallace was not ashamed of it. The 
bedroom and kitchen were sparsely fur- 
nished; in fact, they had only a “monkey” 
stove on which to cook. But who cared for 
that? They always had enough to eat. 

“I wonder if mamma will give us more 
than ten cents for her Christmas present this 
year,” said Corinne. 


74 


CHRISTMAS THE THIRD. 


“I don’t believe she will,” answered 
Loraine. “She didn’t give us any money for 
herself several times, and we were so little 
we didn’t think anything about it, and she 
pretends she does not care.” 

Mrs. Wallace really did not care. Al- 
though her home was a little pleasanter each 
year the expenses for the children were 
greater and if there were sufficient money 
to pay the bills and give the children a happy 
Christmas she was more than satisfied. 

Days and evenings were very busy ones 
for her and she had no time to notice the 
little mysterious excitement among the chil- 
dren. Sometimes she felt the depression that 
comes on such occasions when one rubs el- 
bows with the rich in the great department 
stores; when one’s few dimes are made to 
express as great or greater love than another 
conveys in a hundred times the amount. 

She was watching the pennies now closer 
than ever, for the presents must cost more 
this year as the children were older and dolls 
and trinkets would not satisfy. It was for 
this reason particularly that she recalled the 
fact that Marjorie had not given her the 


76 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 

change after returning from the store a few 
evenings before. 

“Marjorie,” she said, “you bought some- 
thing for twenty-two cents the other day and 
didn’t give me the change.” 

Poor little Marjorie looked so guilty that 
the mother heart took compassion on her. 

“Poor child,” she thought, “I have not 
given her money for candy for so long, I sup- 
pose she spent it for that.” 

She was a little disappointed, however, for 
in her high regard for honesty she had al- 
ways tried to be liberal with the children so 
that there would be no temptation for the 
slightest degree of deceit. 

Christmas Eve came at last. Mother came 
home from the office and slipped noiselessly 
into the hall and vanished into its dark re- 
cesses before entering the parlor. After 
nightfall the children disappeared through 
the kitchen door out into the darkness and 
reappeared with some object which they 
carried down the three or four steps of the 
semi-basement in which they lived. But 
mother was too busy in another room to even 
entertain a suspicion. She had followed her 
usual custom — she could not afford presents 


76 


CHRISTMAS THE THIRD. 


for herself, so her allowance to them would 
not buy anything large enough to need 
strategy in hiding. 

As they sat around the heating stove, 
Loraine said: 

“Let us sing our old Christmas songs like 
we did the first Christmas we can remem- 
ber.” 

So mother took Marjorie on her lap and 
they sang: 

“Jolly old Santa Claus, Icein your ear this way; 
Don’t you tell a single soul what I’m going to say. 
Christmas Eve is coming soon, now, my dear old 
man, 

Whisper what you’ll bring to me ; tell me if you can. 
When the clock is striking twelve and I’m fast 
asleep, 

Down the chimney broad and black with your pack 
you’ll creep; 

All the stockings you will find hanging in a row ; 
Mine will be the shortest one; you’ll be sure to 
know. 

Corinne wants a pair of skates, Marjorie wants a 
dolly, 

Loraine wants a story book, she thinks dolls are 
folly. 

As for me my little brain isn’t very bright. 

Choose for me, dear Santa Claus, just what you 
think is right.” 


77 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


They followed with “Christmas comes but 
once a year,” and then the sweetest one of 
all: 

“Thou didst leave Thy throne and Thy kingly crown 
When Thou earnest to earth for me, 

But in Bethlehem’s town was there found no room 
For Thy holy nativity.” 

After singing the songs which always left 
them feeling kinder and better, they followed 
the custom they had retained ever since the 
days of a happy home, with a real stay-at- 
home mother and a Santa Claus Christmas, 
and stretched a cord across a corner of the 
room in lieu of a fireplace, to which they at- 
tached their Christmas stockings. 

Early in the morning they scrambled out. 
“A guitar for me,” Loraine exclaimed. “I 
didn’t think mother could afford it.” 

“Oh, now, you can take lessons and join 
the High School Mandolin Club,” said 
Corinne, who was always willing to give the 
older sister the first chance, as she knew her 
turn would come later. And Marjorie, who 
was a cheerful little body, waited patiently 
for both girls to “grow up,” for then she 
would have the best time of all. 


78 


CHRISTMAS THE THIRD. 


“And Corinne has some skates, and I can 
borrow them,” hinted Marjorie. 

“And I have a necklace, too,” said Corinne, 
almost afraid she had fared too well. “What 
did you get, Marjorie?” 

“A dolly and some games, and my dolly 
is the beautifulest one I ever had.” 

In mother’s stocking were the little pres- 
ents they had bought her but this time there 
was no letter nor bills nor dressing sacque. 
Evidently the aunts’ families were making 
too great demands this year to allow of 
generosity for others. 

But as always, mother did not care. She 
was glad she could do as much as she was 
doing and many a child did not have as good 
a home as their home. She would not think 
of the beautiful homes her old acquaintances 
were acquiring nor of the many advantages 
their children were having. Her misfor- 
tunes were not of her own making so there 
was no occasion for remorse. 

No one seemed to think of breakfast ex- 
cept Mrs. Wallace, so she entered the kitchen 
alone. As she approached the little monkey 
stove, in the dim morning light she noticed 


79 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 

some huge object on the top. On striking a 
light, she discovered a granite iron teakettle 
arrogantly spreading its dimensions over the 
modest pedestal beneath. 

“Why, girls, where did you get that lovely 
teakettle?” she asked, in amazement. 

“Mamma, you know you needed it. You 
didn’t have any. 

“But how did you get it? You didn’t have 
any money.” 

“We have been saving for months. We 
made up our minds you shouldn’t put us off 
again with ten cents. So we would save one 
or two pennies, sometimes from change and 
sometimes from candy.” 

“And that is what I did with those three 
cents that you thought I kept,” said Mar- 
jorie, who had been waiting for an oppor- 
tunity to vindicate herself. 

“Well, you poor, dear child, I am certainly 
sorry that I thought anything so bad about 
you. But where have you had it all this time 
so that I didn’t see it?” 

“We had it next door, and we brought it 
down the steps last night while you were in 
the parlor,” explained Loraine. 


80 


CHRISTMAS THE THIRD. 


“And we were so afraid you would come 
out, and the lid fell off and we were scared 
to death for fear you would hear,” added 
Corinne. 

“Well, girlies, you certainly did surprise 
me, and you were the best children to think 
of this for so long and to save your pennies. 
I never had a present I cared more for,” and 
she put her arms around the little group. 
And the dingy kitchen with the bright new 
teakettle on the little stove which could 
hardly bear the honor of its distinguished 
burden became a glorified spot to the little 
mother — a memory which she never forgot. 

“Oh, these blessed Christmases,” she 
thought, “how it takes trouble and depriva- 
tion to bring out some of the sweetest 
thoughtfulness in the characters of others!” 


81 


XI. 


LORAINE TRIES NEW FIELDS. 

months passed rapidly. The golden 
^ brown curls, which would never grow 
long, but clustered around Loraine’s shoul- 
ders, giving a childish look to her spirituelle 
features, had been tucked up into a more 
dignified style of coiffure. By dint of many 
hours of study by a kerosene lamp in their 
dimly lighted semi-basement Loraine would 
graduate the month she was seventeen. The 
strain had been telling on her eyes, and she 
had been taking treatments from an eminent 
oculist. About two months before gradua- 
tion she met her mother at the door one eve- 
ning as Mrs. Wallace returned from the of- 
fice. 

“Dr. Wills says I must quit school im- 
mediately,” she announced. 

“Quit school!” exclaimed her mother. 
“For how long?” 

“Forever, he says. He says my eyes are 
in a critical condition and if this disease be- 


82 


LORAINE TRIES NEW FIELDS. 


comes chronic it will be incurable. If I did 
manage to get through High School, I would 
not be able to use my eyes afterwards, and it 
is too dangerous to attempt it.” 

“And you can’t go to the University?” 
asked Corinne. 

“No, I will have to give that up, and my 
dreams of being a high school teacher.” 

“You would have found it pretty hard to 
partly earn your way through the University 
anyway,” said her mother. “It would have 
spoiled some of the best years of your life.” 

“But after dinner, Mrs. Wallace lay down 
on the couch, and washed away in tears her 
worry and disappointment. She did not tell 
Loraine her fears, but her continual thought 
was: 

“Chronic! Her eyes have been affected 
for two years, and that is just about chronic. 
They may never recover!” 

Mrs. Wallace’s mother had been blind for 
some years before her death, so blindness 
was a very vivid thing to Mrs. Wallace, and 
she could not bear to picture Loraine in the 
same lonely condition as her mother. And 
the self-denial of keeping Loraine in school 


83 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


had all been for naught ; her plans now could 
never be carried out. 

The children were worried by their 
mother’s grief. 

‘T didn’t suppose she would have felt that 
bad if I had died,” said Loraine. ‘T believe 
she is afraid I may become blind.” 

After her outburst of tears, Mrs. Wallace 
regained her usual composure and main- 
tained her old-time bravery. 

“Well, if I can’t go to school, I may as 
well go to work,” said Loraine, so a position 
was secured at filing cards in a business of- 
fice. The work proved too great a strain 
on her eyes, however, and was also aban- 
doned. 

“Well, there is nothing I can do except to 
clerk,” she decided, “and you have always 
taught me to look down on such work.” 

“I did that in order to make you ambitious 
so that you would use your time in school,” 
said her mother. “There is no disgrace in 
clerking, but they don’t pay very well and I 
wanted you to be able to do something 
better.” 

“Well, it is my own fault,” admitted 
Loraine, “you told me I was using my eyes 

84 


LORAINE TRIES NEW FIELDS. 


too much, and I would not believe it. I wish 
I had quit the mandolin club sooner.” 

A place was secured in a department store 
at the disgraceful remuneration of three and 
one-half dollars a week. 

“Inexperienced ! If intelligence, education 
and refinement, coupled with energy and a 
strong desire to work, cannot earn more in 
fifty-four hours, I don’t wonder that people 
become dishonest,” said Loraine disgustedly. 

“Who is dishonest?” asked her mother. 

“Why, the girls in the store. If they are 
having a handkerchief sale, the girl at the 
handkerchief counter gives each girl a hand- 
kerchief. If they are having ribbon sales, 
the girl at the ribbon counter gives each girl 
a length of ribbon. The other day a lady left 
a package on the counter, and the girls 
opened it and found it was an angel food 
cake. They cut it up and ate it, and when 
she came back they declared they had not 
seen it.” 

“I don’t want you to do anything like that, 
Loraine. It won’t be long until you get 
better pay, and you won’t have to steal, even 
if it is only handkerchiefs.” 


85 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


One day Loraine came home with a hurt 
look on her face. 

“Mother/’ she said, “must I go back to the 
store? So many girls come in who knew I 
was expecting to go to the University, and 
they know I work for a few dollars a week. 
They don’t say anything about it, and I can’t 
explain, but I wish I could work in a less con- 
spicuous place.” 

“All right,” said mother. “I taught you to 
look down on such a place, so I cannot blame 
you for feeling that way. Besides, your eyes 
are getting better, and can probably stand 
different work.” 

In a few days Loraine secured a position in 
a mining office, where her education and 
ability had more scope. 


86 


XII. 


THE EXPECTED REQUEST. 

^ I ^HEN came the request Mrs. Wallace had 
^ been expecting for some time. The chil- 
dren were becoming young ladies, and their 
pride was outgrowing their surroundings. 

“Mother, can’t we move into a better 
apartment?” pleaded Loraine. 

“Girls, I have always said that instead of 
paying more rent, I would buy a home. With 
fifty dollars down I could buy a cottage and 
make the pa5mients each month. If you will 
try to help me, I think I could get fifty dol- 
lars from Grandpa and begin paying for a 
house. I hate to worry him, for he is old and 
has only his home, but if he could spare fifty 
dollars and take it out of my share after he 
is gone, it would certainly help me now.” 

That night a letter was written to Grand- 
pa. After it was mailed Mrs. Wallace dis- 
missed the matter from her mind with this 
thought : 


87 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


“I almost hope he won’t send the money. 
If I begin paying for a home, I will worry 
about losing it, and if I keep renting I will 
not have much to worry about.” 

But loving hearts were too anxious to help 
and the opportunity was not allowed to pass 
by unimproved. On the earliest mail came 
an answer from Aunt Jennie. Mrs. Wallace 
opened it with a little feeling of excitement 
in spite of her declaration of indifference. 

“Girls,” she exclaimed, “I’ve got a check 
from Aunt Jennie for fifty dollars.” 

Grandpa did not have fifty dollars in cash, 
at that moment, the letter stated, but he had 
instructed Aunt Jennie to send the money 
immediately and he would repay it later. 
Mrs. Wallace acted like a sixteen-year-old at 
the office that day. She could hardly wait 
until closing hours, when she could keep her 
appointment with the real estate agent. 
After a thirty-minute ride on the street car, 
they alighted and the agent turned down a 
pleasant residence street. 

“It is just around the corner,” he re- 
marked, after they had walked about a block. 

Mrs. Wallace, in her quest for a home, had 
had so many disappointments “just around 
88 


THE EXPECTED REQUEST. 

the corner” that she felt a little dubious. 
Streets which had been very attractive look- 
ing had merged into entirely different as- 
pects “just around the corner.” This time, 
however, she saw nothing but pretty, new 
cottages and as they ascended the terrace on 
which the house stood, she said at once, 
“Well, I am going to take this.” 

The inside proved as attractive as the out- 
side. The house was built square fashion, 
with a porch running across the front. The 
parlor, with a large double doorway, opened 
into the dining room, and leading off from 
that was the kitchen. The one bedroom was 
at the front of the house, by the side of the 
parlor. 

“What pretty papering!” said Corinne, as 
the trio inspected the house the next morn- 
ing. 

“And the woodwork is good, too,” said 
Loraine. 

“That’s a dandy porcelain sink in the 
kitchen,” said Marjorie, who had constituted 
herself housekeeper since Loraine was em- 
ployed and Corinne so busy in high school. 

As the water department had not yet been 
notified of the prospective occupancy of the 


89 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


house, Marjorie was dispatched next door to 
bring a bucket of water. The lady of the 
house, who apparently had no interests of 
her own to engage her attention, immedi- 
ately inquired how many “loads” they would 
have. 

“If she is a specimen of women who stay 
home all the time, I am glad my mother has 
to work,” commented Marjorie. “She at 
least has no time to attend to other people’s 
business.” 


XIII. 


CORINNE AND THE JUNK SHOP. 

' I 'HE little home in the residence district 
seemed very pleasant after their yard- 
less apartment uptown and the close prox- 
imity with neighbors who were not always 
very desirable. Expenses, however, were 
gradually increasing and it was found neces- 
sary to call on Corinne for assistance. Like 
Loraine, she had entered high school at thir- 
teen, and had now finished her second year. 
Mrs. Wallace’s employment was very hard 
on her eyes and she felt that she must be 
making some provision against the years 
when she might not be able to work. 

Corinne’s search for employment resolved 
itself into two opportunities: One, a very 
pleasant position with small salary and no 
opportunity for advancement; the other, in 
an office of a junk yard, with the opportunity 
of using the typewriter. 

‘‘The junk shop is the best opportunity if 
you have the courage to take it,” advised 


91 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 

Mrs. Wallace. “Three months or less of 
practice on the typewriter will give you ex- 
perience so that you can apply for a better 
position. You won’t meet any of your old 
acquaintances in that part of town, and a 
few months will not be long in passing.” 

So Corinne, with her pride and her sensi- 
tive face and refined manners, “accepted a 
position” in the junk shop. The little Jew, 
with his keen regard for the infinitesimal 
money details of his business, was not a 
pleasant companion. Gradually, however, 
Corinne learned to take an interest in the 
colored family which lived in the rear of the 
yard, for the purpose of safeguarding its con- 
tents from depredations during the night. 
When the little colored tot of three would 
wander up to the door and the parents after 
a frantic search would exhibit their joy on 
discovering her, Corinne gained the broaden- 
ing knowledge that parental love was some- 
thing not confined to superior races. 

On one of the gloomy afternoons when 
the junk shop was more dismal than usual, 
her solitude was disturbed by a shadow in 
the doorway. On looking up, she beheld a 
rough looking man regarding her fixedly. 


92 


CORINNE AND THE JUNK SHOP. 

She was alarmed but knew not what to do, 
as he was between her and any exit. He ad- 
vanced toward her. 

“I want you to change some money for 
me,” he demanded. 

She slowly moved toward the cash drawer, 
afraid, but not knowing what else to do. 

'‘I don’t think I have any change,” she 
faltered. 

‘‘I guess you have, all right,” he returned, 
in a leering tone ; “I need about ten dollars.” 

She took hold of the cash drawer, then 
hesitated, but his advancing step and menac- 
ing manner argued against delay. 

“What is it you-all wants?” interpolated a 
voice from an unexpected quarter, and a 
burly black form thrust its head through an 
open window. 

The white and the black glared at each 
other, but the challenge in the colored man’s 
eye bore a truer look than that of his ad- 
versary, and the white man slunk away. 

“Oh, Mose,” said Corinne, “I am so glad 
you came in. I was so afraid.” 

“Well, Pamelia tole me I dun bettah come 
up heah and see what dat fellah wants. I 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


don’ like de looks of him when he cum in de 
yahd.” 

‘‘What’d de man want, Mose?” queried 
Pamelia, who, with Pinkie, had now made 
her appearance. 

“Nothin’; leastwise he changed his mind 
aftah he saw me.” 

“Well, I feel so scared yet that I can hardly 
talk, but it certainly did look good to see 
Mose’s head in that window,” said Corinne. 

“Looked just like a ten thousan’ dollah 
paintin’, didn’t I? Bet I looked good-lookin’ 
that time,” chuckled Mose. 

“Any yuther time anybody scares yuh, just 
look out dat windah and hollah ; we’ll always 
be lookin’ for you,” and Pamelia, Mose and 
Pinkie returned home. 

“Mamma, they looked just like the 
Madonna family,” declared Corinne that 
night. “I never knew that black faces could 
look as good and holy as they did.” 

It was not long before Corinne secured a 
better position, but she left the junk shop 
feeling that the experiences she had had 
there were not without a beneficial influence. 


94 


XIV. 


CHRISTMAS AGAIN. 

A NOTHER Christmas season was dawn- 
ing. This time no demands were to be 
made on mother. Loraine and Corinne had 
their own money and they would “divvy up” 
with Marjorie. No stinging poverty this 
time ; just a comfortable sufficiency that was 
all the more appreciated because of other 
memories. 

There were midnight services at the little 
Episcopal church. The solemnity of the 
night, the beauty of the stars shining on the 
glistening snow, all lent a quiet glory to the 
scene that could never be forgotten. As they 
left the church, they were accompanied by 
Mr. Evans, who lived nearby. 

“Do come in,” he urged, as they reached 
his home. 

Noiselessly, for fear of waking the wife 
and babies, they stole into the living room, 
and surveyed the gifts Santa had left. Just 
as noiselessly they slipped out, waving their 


95 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


adieus, instead of voicing them. Early 
Christmas morning the children — for they 
were still children — surrounded the sleepy 
mother. 

“Get up, mother ; do get up. We just can’t 
wait !” and they pulled her out of bed. Their 
own presents were not examined. 

“You must look into your stocking,” they 
insisted. 

Down in the stocking was a tiny package. 
No mammoth teakettle, nor kitteny plate 
could be in a package of such dimensions. 

Marjorie took the package out of her 
hands. 

“Shut your eyes,” she commanded. 

Mrs. Wallace obeyed. She felt a queer 
little movement around her neck and opened 
her eyes to look into a hand mirror and dis- 
cover a beautiful amethyst lavalliere. 

“Why, girls,” she exclaimed, in an almost 
shocked tone, “for me?” 

“Yes, for you. Why not? You look al- 
most as young as we do, and you have a right 
to have pretty things,” said Loraine. 

“This is a punishment for the way you 
used to do when you compelled us to buy kit- 


CHRISTMAS AGAIN. 


ten plates and ten cent handkerchiefs for 
you,” added Marjorie. 

‘‘And the days in the summer time when 
you would take us to the parks and let us 
have a good time and never pay out even five 
cents for yourself,” supplemented Corinne. 

“And we are not through, yet,” continued 
Loraine, re-opening the attack. “This is for 
you to sever our Christmas turkey.” 

A handsome carving set was now dis- 
played but Mrs. Wallace was beyond the 
power of speech, and the girls turned their 
attention to their own presents. These were 
on the same generous order, and the day 
passed happily. 

“Girlies,” suggested the mother, “this is 
such a happy Christmas for us; don’t let us 
forget those who may be having a Christmas 
like some we have had.” 

A hasty contribution was taken up, and 
Loraine was dispatched to a neighboring 
drug store which handled holiday goods. A 
little later a stray errand boy delivered the 
goods with a “loving friend” signature, to an 
unfortunate family around the corner. 


97 


XV. 


DECISIVE CHANGES. 

'T^HE next two years brought decisive 
changes. Loraine was the first to leave 
the home nest, having married a young man 
of good habits and good parentage. The 
“old folks” built them a home which the 
young people were gradually paying for. At 
the approach of Christmastide, Marjorie had 
been married a few months and she and her 
husband would occupy their own home after 
the holidays. Dean had no wealthy parents 
to build for him, but by his own initiative, he 
had saved some money and a substantial pay- 
ment had been made on the five-room mod- 
ern cottage which he and his bride would 
soon occupy. 

As the little bride and the young matron 
were reveling in the luxury of stay-at-home 
days and sure-enough housekeeping, they 
plotted for the pleasure of mother and 
Corinne, who were still “office slaves.” 

98 


DECISIVE CHANGES. 


“Let’s surprise them both by having a 
party Christmas Eve,” suggested Marjorie. 
Her red curls were a wavy auburn now, but it 
framed the same round-cheeked face which 
was still that of a girl not out of her ’teens. 

“But how? Who would we have?” asked 
Loraine. “Mother would not like strangers 
at such a time.” 

“There would be Dean and Will and I re- 
ceived a letter from Clyde Wilson today say- 
ing he would be here for Christmas. He 
wants to surprise Corinne.” 

“I am glad Clyde came to the city for a 
time. It needed someone who had known 
Corinne as a child to become thoroughly ac- 
quainted with her. She is so much shyer than 
you and I are. There’s the postman. I hope 
he has a letter.” 

She returned in a moment. 

“A letter from Margaret,” she announced. 
“She is going through the city near Christ- 
mas. I will ask her if she can’t arrange to 
arrive here in time for our Christmas sur- 
prise. She can stay at my house until Christ- 
mas Eve.” 

Margaret, of surprise party fame, had re- 
moved to California with her mother and 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 

sisters shortly after the Wallace removal to 
Oklahoma. With true German devotion 
she had urged Loraine to write to her, but 
postage and time were valuable items and 
Mrs. Wallace discouraged the correspond- 
ence. 

“You will probably never see each other 
again, so why waste the stationery and 
time?” she had asked. 

So Margaret’s letter remained unan- 
swered until a second one came, in which a 
sensitive, affectionate nature bared itself to 
the reader. 

“I thought maybe your mother would not 
let you write because I told you about that 
surprise party,” she had written, “and I 
never would have done it, but I just felt so 
bad about it I couldn’t help it. But I’ve been 
sorry ever since.” 

'‘Mother, can’t I answer her letter?” 
pleaded Loraine. 

“You certainly can,” responded Mrs. Wal- 
lace. “I had no idea she would remember or 
care more than a few days.” 

An early mail carried a loving answer to 
Margaret, and the friendship carried on by 
means of correspondence had continued until 


100 


DECISIVE CHANGES. 


the present time. The experiences of the 
two half-orphaned children were related to 
each other year after year. 

Margaret’s mother had bought a tiny 
home in a little town in California. The 
town had many wealthy residents but very 
little business, and Margaret soon found her- 
self installed as maid in one of these beau- 
tiful homes. 

‘T would rather have Margaret in some 
good woman’s home than in an office,” in- 
sisted her mother, who had no false pride on 
the servant question. Instead of rebelling, 
Margaret accepted the situation gracefully, 
and found the contact with educated, cul- 
tured people very beneficial. With German 
respect for domestic virtues, and German 
sturdiness, she found it impossible to con- 
sider herself inferior, and her employers soon 
accepted her at her own valuation. She was 
given the lighter work and the care of the 
children, as her refined manners and speech 
made her an admirable companion. But, 
best of all, she had access in her leisure mo- 
ments to an extensive library, and there was 
where her imagination had full sway, and 
she broke the bonds of environment and con- 


101 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


ditions, and soared into limitless space. The 
influence of the library was noticeable in her 
letters — “such wonderful letters,” Mrs. Wal- 
lace often said. 


102 


XVI. 

THE LAST CHRISTMAS. 

A WAY off in a lonely farm house sat a 
man with silvering hair, thinking, think- 
ing. He must be getting old; every year 
home was getting dearer and dearer — and 
lonelier. Time was when business had filled 
his mind and numerous friends had helped 
pass the leisure hours. But money-making 
now was not such an engrossing matter — he 
had enough; and friends now were not so 
easily made. After all, old friends were best. 
Where were some of his old friends — had 
they forgotten him? 

It was near Christmas and one cannot be 
lonely at Christmas. It would make one 
shiver to be with the ghosts of the past at 
this particular time. He arose from his chair 
and looked into the mirror. He laughed. 

“You are not old, just lonely. Forget the 
quarrels of the past, go out with ‘peace on 
earth ; good will toward men’ in your heart. 


103 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 

and find the friends that you miss. God 
wot, it may be the happiest Christmas of 
your life.” 

The day before Christmas dawned clear 
and cold. Early in the morning Loraine 
went over to the cottage home to assist 
Marjorie. Evergreen, holly and mistletoe 
festooned the walls. The pantry shelves 
were loaded. 

‘‘This dear little house! I never will for- 
get it,” said Marjorie, “We were so proud 
of it after living in apartments for several 
years.” 

“That is compensation for being poor,” 
added Loraine. “People who have had all 
they want can never realize how dear this 
little home was and is to us.” 

Towards evening mysterious things began 
to happen. One room was kept carefully 
closed and had anyone cared to peep in the 
windows they might have descried two 
forms sitting in the dusky twilight talking 
in an undertone or ghostly whispers. 

The parlor was brilliantly lighted when 
mother and Corinne reached home. Wraps 
were flung off in a flurry of excitement. 
Dean and Will dashed up the steps in quick 


104 


THE LAST CHRISTMAS. 


succession and the family party were at last 
assembled. The lights were turned on in the 
dining room. 

“Why, girls, you have too many plates, it 
seems to me,” said Mrs. Wallace, in a sur- 
prised tone, as she glanced at the table, but 
she was interrupted by a scream from 
Corinne. 

“There is someone in the bedroom,” she 
exclaimed, “in there in the dark.” 

Margaret emerged from her hiding place 
to be met only by a blank stare from most 
of the company. The little girl of ten was 
not recognizable in the young lady of to- 
night. 

“Why, mother, this is Margaret — Mar- 
garet Heins.” 

This tall blonde girl was certainly unlike 
the plump little German girl they had known. 
After clustering around her with a loving 
welcome from all, Corinne again slipped 
away into the bedroom in response to the 
feminine instinct to “primp” a little before 
dinner. Why, she had not looked into the 
glass since she came home! She leaned for- 
ward as she looked into the depths of the 
mirror, adjusting a stray lock and vaguely 


106 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


wishing there were someone present, a little 
dearer than brothers-in-law, to admire her 
charms, when she saw a reflection in the 
glass not her own, and turned to find Clyde 
Wilson beside her. In a few moments they 
joined the circle in the dining room, who 
were beginning to clamor for dinner. 

During the meal experiences were re- 
counted since and of the days of childhood, 
Clyde even now embarrassed by the recollec- 
tion of his failure to invite Margaret, and 
Margaret still conscious of her awful sin in 
spoiling the “surprise.” Then the conversa- 
tion turned to the future. 

“Next year we will be in a home of our 
own,” said Marjorie, proudly, with a loving 
glance at Dean. 

“And next year so will Corinne and I,” 
announced Clyde, who had been watching 
for an opportunity. 

The boys whooped, and then shook hands 
with the prospective brother-in-law. When 
the excitement subsided, Loraine asked: 

“What will you be doing, Margaret?” 

The girl flushed slightly, and then said, 
modestly, “I will put in my spare time writ- 
ing. I have finished one story which will be 


106 


THE LAST CHRISTMAS. 


published soon and I intend writing an- 
other.” 

‘‘I knew your letter-writing meant some- 
thing,” exclaimed Loraine; “they were dif- 
ferent from any letters I ever read. Every 
little incident was told in such a wonderful 
way. I am going to claim a royalty on all 
your work for allowing you to practice on 
me all these years.” 

After dinner was over, boys and girls re- 
paired to the kitchen to wash the dishes. 
Mrs. Wallace stepped out on the porch. She 
wanted to be alone. It was a very joyful oc- 
casion and yet it was one of her saddest 
Christmases. It was the final sundering of 
family ties. The girls would all be in homes 
of their own, and where would she be? Her 
health was good, she was still young looking 
and would have no trouble in retaining her 
position. There would be money enough, 
but she wanted a home. She did not want 
to go back into the house until she could keep 
the tears from her eyes. While she stood 
musing, a man turned the corner of the 
street. He did not seem to be any of the 
neighbors. The rays from the arc light 
shone upon silvery hair, but did not disclose 


107 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 

his features. She watched him idly to see 
where he would go, but was greatly sur- 
prised when he turned in at their own yard. 
It was too late to retreat. He came up the 
terrace and met her on the porch. As he 
clasped her hand, he exclaimed, 

‘‘This is better than I expected — to find 
you waiting for me.” 

When Mrs. Wallace entered the kitchen, 
the last dish had just been placed in the 
buffet. 

“Such a shabby trick!” declared one of the 
dishwashing crew. “Stay away until the 
dishes are washed.” 

“Just like we did when we were little. 
Mamma, I didn’t think it of you.” 

“Even when we were little, we wouldn’t 
act like that when Clyde was around. He 
could always make us work.” 

“You children had better hurry up,” said 
mother. “Santa Claus arrived some time 
ago, and is waiting to deliver the presents.” 

“Now, mother, you’ve been nosing. How 
did you discover we had a Christmas tree?” 

They hastened to the room where the 
Christmas tree had been concealed. The 
draperies had been removed, the lights 


108 


THE LAST CHRISTMAS. 


turned on and with the effective decorations 
Loraine and Marjorie had provided, the 
room presented a beautiful appearance of 
Christmas cheer. 

Santa Claus stood by the side of the tree; 
not the conventional Santa Claus; in fact, the 
only resemblance to Santa was in the long 
white beard. The delivery of the presents 
began in a very dignified, solemn manner. 
Seven pairs of eyes scrutinized every move- 
ment to discover the identity of Santa, but a 
closely drawn-down cap shielded his eyes 
and that enormous beard covered most of his 
face. 

At length he took three packages at one 
time and gave one each to Loraine, Corinne 
and Marjorie. 

“Fliegende,” read Marjorie. 

“Auspinarius!” 

“Hospidarsky!” 

“Mr. Jenkins!” they exclaimed simultan- 
eously, and three pairs of hands removed the 
beard and cap. 

“Where have you been?” and “How did 
you get here?” clamored the girls, and from 
the noise and excitement one would have 
imagined they were still “Three Little 


109 


THREE LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS. 


Housekeepers” instead of sensible young 
women. 

‘‘What a lovely Christmas!” said Loraine, 
later. “Of all our Christmases I believe this 
is the best. Next Christmas I hope we will 
all be together again, as happy or happier 
than this Christmas.” 

“Next Christmas, God willing,” said Mr. 
Jenkins, “you will all spend Christmas with 
mother and me on the farm.” 

And Marjorie, who had been vaguely 
wondering, and trying to summon up cour- 
age, presented him with a little Christmas 
present for “Daddy.” 


110 


JIBWISHKA 

^^TWISH you would not sit there with a 
book in your hand all the time. Come 
in and help me with the baby,” and Mrs. 
Gray looked down crossly at the little girl. 

Arline closed the book, arose from the 
doorstep, and followed her mother into the 
house. All morning long she assisted in the 
housework, and attended to the baby, but 
after dinner when the child was asleep, she 
resumed her book and her position on the 
doorstep. Not that the doorstep was an in- 
viting place, but it was the only place she 
could sit unless it was in the house, and it 
was so dark and dismal and dirty in there 
that she did not care to stay. 

Before she opened her book, however, she 
took a deliberate survey of the yard. Arline 
lived in some rooms back of a store. All 
around her were the back yards of restau- 
rants and business houses, and back of her 
was the alley. The foundation, or ruins, she 
could not tell which, of a small building stood 


111 


JIBWISHKA. 


in the next back yard. There was a super- 
fluity of tin cans and garbage, but not a blade 
of grass. Delivery wagons were standing in 
the alley and errand boys for the different 
business houses loafed around the back 
doors or on the wagon seats. 

After a long look at her surroundings, she 
again opened the book, but immediately 
changed her mind. 

‘‘Mother,” she called through the window, 
“can’t I go down to the park?” 

“Oh, go on,” her mother answered rough- 
ly. “You’re no company to me, anyway.” 

The little girl closed her book and went. 
Anything to get away from that miserable 
home and back yard ! She entered the park 
and seated herself on the grass by the foun- 
tain. Why couldn’t she have had a nice 
home and good times like other girls? Why 
weren’t there fairies as she used to believe? 
This world really needed them. They would 
be of some use. There were so many things 
to be set right in this world. 

“What are you reading?” someone asked 
pleasantly. 

It came so suddenly, just like the fairies 
in her books, that Arline looked up, half ex- 


112 


JIBWISHKA. 


pecting to see a diminutive being with a 
wand in her hand, but no ! it was only a fash- 
ionably dressed young lady, just like the ones 
she often saw in the park. 

The old disappointed look came back into 
her eyes and she did not answer. 

“May I look at your book?” continued the 
lady, who was really nothing more than a 
young girl. “Fairy stories! Do you believe 
in fairy stories?” 

“No,” answered Arline disgustedly, “but 
I wish they were true.” 

“Why?” asked the girl. “Why do you 
want fairies?” 

“Oh, because we need them so much. 
There is so much they could do.” 

“And what do you want a fairy to do?” 
continued the stranger, with an interested 
smile. 

“I want her to change our house and back 
yard into a nice place, and I want some nice 
clothes, and I want some pretty things once 
in a while,” Arline answered, for the first 
time in her life daring to say the things she 
had been thinking. 

“What kind of pretty things do you 
want?” 


113 


JIBWISHKA. 


“Oh, things like that,” the child went on, 
pointing to a necklace around the young 
lady’s throat. Then, becoming ashamed of 
herself, she said, “I don’t want very many 
things like that, but I don’t see why I can’t 
have one or two nice things when some peo- 
ple have so many.” 

“What would you say if I told you I was 
a fairy?” 

“Oh, you don’t look like one. You’re too 
big,” responded Arline, almost with a laugh. 

“Well, fairies can take different forms. 
What do you suppose a policeman would do 
if a real tiny fairy came into a city park? He 
would turn her over to the juvenile court for 
truancy or else sell her to a side show.” 

Arline laughed. 

“’Now, just to show you I’m a real sure 
enough fairy, I am going to act like one. But 
you must remember that the fairies you are 
reading about were old-fashioned fairies who 
lived in much different places from this — and 
their methods would not be best for these 
modern times. The fairy of today helps you 
to help yourself, and does for you only what 
you can’t do.” 


114 


JIBWISHKA. 


“Well, that is what I want,” said Arline, 
almost ready to cry for fear her fairy was go- 
ing to disappoint her. “But I can’t do any- 
thing for myself. There isn’t anything I can 
do.” 

“Wait until I look in my glass. This is 
my glass of the future. I see a sweet, pretty 
girl, very prettily dressed. I see a pleasant 
home — I’ll tell you more of what I see the 
next time, for my glass is clouding up,” and 
she placed the little mirror back in her hand 
bag. 

“Am I going to see you a next time?” 
asked Arline. 

“Why, of course; didn’t I tell you? I am 
your fairy godmother. I don’t really look 
like this all the time, you know, but I had to 
look like this now, or all the boys and girls 
on the street would follow me.” 

Arline was not sure whether the lady was 
joking or not; she could not tell, but there 
was a smile in her eyes all the time she was 
talking. 

“My name is Jibwishka,” the fairy con- 
tinued, “and if you are ever in trouble, write 
a note and put it in the crevice of this tree; 
right here, so it can’t fall in too far, but at 
116 


JIBWISHKA. 


the same time no one can see it. I am going 
to give you this ‘pretty thing’ so you may 
know I am really and truly your godmother, 
and tomorrow at this same hour, come back 
to this very spot, for I want to see you. Give 
your mother this card if she is afraid to let 
you come,” and she slipped the necklace 
around Arline’s neck and was gone as sud- 
denly as she had come. 

The child could hardly believe it was true. 
She fingered the necklace, half believing it 
would vanish as the lady had done, but at 
length she decided it was there to stay and 
she returned home. 

“Arline, where did you get that necklace?” 
demanded her mother, almost as soon as she 
entered the house. 

Arline told her story, and her mother lis- 
tened in doubting wonder. Her daughter 
had always been very truthful, or Mrs. Gray 
would not have believed the narrative. 
When the child told of the invitation to come 
again the next day, Mrs. Gray exclaimed, 
“You cannot go; the woman may be trying 
to kidnap you.” 

“Oh, mother,” protested Arline, “it is right 
by the fountain where there are lots of peo- 


116 


JIBWISHKA. 


pie sitting, and the policeman stays there all 
the time. Besides she said I should give you 
this card if you wouldn’t let me come.” 

The card was read in amazement and 
then laid aside. 

Arline went to the mirror and looked at 
her new trinket. It nestled against her neck 
so lovingly she felt as if it were a living 
thing. It seemed alive and constantly tell- 
ing her of her new friend — her fairy god- 
mother. The mystery of it all was so fas- 
cinating that she forget the stony back yard, 
the shabby interior and the fretful baby. In- 
deed, she found herself being sorry for 
mother and father and the younger children, 
who had no kind, beautiful friend to meet 
in the park. In her anticipation of the fol- 
lowing day, she sang around her work and 
helped mother cheerfully. 

In her eagerness she could hardly wait for 
the time to come, and ten minutes early she 
closed the kitchen door and ran over to the 
park. There was no one waiting and she felt 
a pang of disappointment. It had been too 
good to be true. 

Jibwishka would not come back. She sat 
down by the fountain and watched the 


117 


JIBWISHKA. 


waters with an earnestness that would have 
drawn any fairy from its depths had one been 
there. A pair of hands were clasped over her 
eyes, and a voice said, “Who is it?” 

“Jibwishka,” faltered Arline. 

“Right!” laughed the fairy, “And now,” 
she continued, “I have brought my mirror 
of the future, and we will see what it has in 
store for you. Hold it in the palm of your 
hand, and don’t think of anything else and 
let me look into it.” She looked long and 
earnestly. “I see two visions of what you 
can be, and I will give you your choice. I 
see a flashily dressed girl with a bright silk 
dress and cheap, showy jewelry. I see her 
drinking wine and going to public dances. I 
see a dingy home and a sick, worried mother 
and a daughter who is cross and mean to her. 
I see an old tired father who is breaking 
down under trouble. Now this is the other 
picture — I see a pleasant home, a happy 
cheerful father and mother, a sweet pretty 
girl who is good and kind, and — ” 

“Don’t you see a Prince Charming? They 
always have them.” 

“Yes, I see a Prince Charming in the dis- 
tance, and he is hunting, hunting for the 


118 


JIBWISHKA. 


little cottage among the trees where he will 
enter and find the Sleeping Beauty and wake 
her up to a life of love and happiness. Now, 
little girl, which will you choose?’’ 

“The last one!” exclaimed Arline. 

“All right, little girl. Now in these mod- 
ern days we fairies do things in a natural 
way. Magic is left to superstitious people. 
So you must co-operate with me if this is to 
come true. I will tell you what to do and 
once every month, I will come to see you ; if 
you have followed my plans, you shall have a 
little surprise ; if I am disappointed in you, I 
will vanish and you will never see me more.” 

“Oh, Jibwishka, don’t say that,” pleaded 
the child. “I will feel so bad if you don’t 
come, and I will try, and if some time I don’t 
do so well, give me another chance, won’t 
you?” 

“Yes, dear,” answered the fairy, “as long 
as you keep trying I will come. Now, Arline, 
this is what you must do first so that you 
may look nice enough to live in that pleasant 
home you are going to have. First, you must 
be clean; keep your face and hands as clean 
as you can have them, and bathe as often as 
you can. Next, you must keep your hair as 


119 


JIBWISHKA. 


nice as you can, and your finger nails and 
teeth. For you will never know how soon 
you may go to that new home I spoke of, 
and you must look nice enough for your 
house. Then you must be nice and sweet 
for Prince Charming will love you more for 
your sweetness than for your beauty. Help 
your mother and be kind to your father and 
the children, and one month from today I 
will be back and if you have tried to do these 
things, I will know it by the way you look, 
and you shall have a nice, pleasant surprise.” 

Again the fairy departed, and Arline re- 
turned home. As she entered the house, she 
noticed how tired her mother looked. She 
picked up the baby. Its fingers were sticky, 
and Arline bathed the little face and hands 
until the little one cooed as the moist cloth 
touched her lips. Arline’s own face and 
hands were given a similar treatment and 
her hair an extra touch as she passed the 
dresser. She picked up some of the things 
from the floor and tidied the room. Her 
mother looked at her in astonishment. Care 
and poverty had been telling on Mrs. Gray 
and she had been developing into a cross, 
discontented, fretful woman, but now began 


120 


JIBWISHKA. 


a dream that things might be more like they 
had been before sickness and misfortune had 
come into their lives. 

All through the month she noticed an im- 
provement in Arline. “The child is growing 
older, but I did not suppose she would be- 
come so thoughtful in such a short time,’' 
meditated the mother. 

“How much nicer mamma and the baby 
are,” thought Arline. “I believe the fairy 
has cast a spell around this house already. 
It looks lots nicer than it used to.” 

It certainly did, for Mrs. Gray had so much 
more time since Arline’s kindly helpfulness 
that she did many little things the little girl 
could not do, and the home took on a much 
more pleasant look. 

The first of the month came and Arline 
was ready for her visit to the park when 
mother threw a bombshell into camp. 

“You’ll have to take the baby.” 

Take the baby to see the fairy ! That was 
preposterous. She was all ready to storm, 
when she thought of Jibwishka’s saying that 
she must be kind. She conquered herself 
and would not let the tears fall, and baby 
was washed and dressed and taken along. 


121 


JIBWISHKA. 


“How nice!” exclaimed Jibwishka, who 
seemed to have been making friends with the 
policeman. 

“What a joke!” thought Arline. “He 
doesn't know she’s a fairy and my god- 
mother!” 

“Now,” said godmother, “you know this 
policeman, and you know he’s all right. He 
says I may take you and baby automobile 
riding, so pile in. We’ll take a long ride and 
if mother comes after you, our friend here 
will tell her what has become of you.” 

Arline’s eyes opened in wonder; with a 
pleased expression, then sad. 

“What’s the matter?” asked godmother. 

Arline was ashamed to say it; Jibwishka 
might think she was hinting, but the fairy in- 
sisted. 

“I was just thinking how daddy and 
mother would enjoy this.” 

“There, little princess, becoming kinder al- 
ready. Keep up your improvement an- 
other month and we’ll take mother and 
father and all the kiddies along.” 

A long, long ride was had, and a stop at a 
miniature hotel where a dainty little supper 
was ordered. Then another ride, in which 


122 


JIBWISHKA. 


they passed a little brook and a great deal 
of pretty scenery and Arline and the baby 
reached home just at dusk. The fairy set 
them down at the corner and waved her hand 
and was gone. 

Arline and the baby trudged on to the 
middle of the block and stopped in amaze- 
ment before an empty house. Had Jibwishka 
played a trick on them? 

Mrs. Jenkins called from next door, 
“Didn’t you know your ma was going to 
move, honey? Well, I declare. Well, you go 
down that way two blocks and then turn 
east and go two blocks more.” 

Arline could hardly wait for the baby’s 
tiny feet. To think they had really left that 
miserable neighborhood with its stony back 
yard and neighborhood garbage cans! But 
suppose the new place should be worse? 
She hurried on until she reached a tiny cot- 
tage with a little plot of ground covered with 
green grass. And that was her home! It 
seemed like magic. This must be Jibwish- 
ka’s work. 

Her mother hastened out to greet her with 
such a happy face the child scarcely knew 
her. 


123 


JIBWISHKA. 


‘‘Oh, mother,” she exclaimed, “how did 
you happen to do it?” 

“WeVe been getting circulars for a week 
or two telling us about cheap cottages, and 
daddy and I have been looking at some, so 
today daddy had the afternoon off, and we 
hunted up the landlord and decided to move 
right away.” 

As the children reveled in the hitherto un- 
known luxury of rolling around in their own 
grassy yard, Arline sat fingering her neck- 
lace as reverently as a sister at her beads. It 
was Jibwishka’s work, she was sure, but the 
fairy would not have done it if she had not 
done her part. How good she must be in 
order to help Jibwishka bring about the 
future she had promised. 

The pleasant little home seemed to trans- 
form Mrs. Gray, who had really come of a 
good family, but whom poverty and discour- 
agement had developed into a nagging, dis- 
heartened woman. With Arline’s growing 
helpfulness and the more cheerful surround- 
ings, she had taken new hope and started 
life afresh. 

The summer passed, during which time 
Arline saw her friend regularly, always with 


124 


JIBWISHKA. 


some pleasant outing or act of kindness. In 
the fall Jibwishka began to do some think- 
ing. 

“Pretty cold for motor rides and picnics, 
little girl. What will we do this winter?” 
she asked. 

“I don’t know,” answered Arline, and 
then she added, “I wonder if you are a real 
fairy. You don’t look like one, but you act 
like one. But you don’t do things by magic, 
do you?” 

“Yes, Arline, by the magic of a kind 
heart. Do you see that ring?” she asked; 
“That was given to me by a loving father, 
the kind of a father that very few girls have. 
It is a talisman, a magic ring, and I have 
been thinking that I could change that in- 
to some wonderful things if I wanted to, 
and perhaps I will. But it all depends on 
you, princess. Show yourself worthy, be 
good and kind, lovely and clean and sweet, 
help your parents and sisters and brothers 
and study in school. Just keep trying to 
do that, even if you do make mistakes, some- 
times, and you will find that the best kind 
of magic.” 


125 


JIBWISHKA. 


The days were growing on toward Christ- 
mas. Mr. and Mrs. Gray were wondering 
what Santa Claus would bring the children. 
In other years he had not been as generous 
as he might have been. Of course the city 
had its Christmas trees for the poor, but 
Mrs. Gray could not bring herself to send 
the children there. She felt they must go 
with less rather than have the feeling of 
dependence. Arline was thinking hard. It 
all depended on her, Jibwishka said; maybe 
that meant Christmas. Oh, how she studied, 
and how good she was to the children. 

“Let’s show Nina how to say her prayers,” 
said Grace. “Maybe she can help us pray 
for Christmas.” 

“I’d rather pray to Jibwishka,” said Arline, 
who rarely spoke of her godmother, whom 
they all regarded as somewhat of a mystery. 

“Let’s pray that God will send us all a 
Jibwishka,” said Grace, but Nina pleaded, 
“I want a Santa Claus.” 

‘Yes, let’s pray for Santa Claus,” they all 
decided, and Arline began the task of 
initiating little Nina into the mysteries of 
“Now I lay me.” 


126 


JIBWISHKA. 


‘^Now I lay me—” 

“Now I ’ay me — ” 

“Down to sleep,” 

“Down to s’eep,” 

“I pray the Lord — ” 

“I p’ay de Lord—” 

“My soul to keep;” 

“My so’ to teep;” 

“If I should die—” 

“If I sood die—” 

“Before I wake — ” 

“Before I wake—” 

“I pray the Lord — ” 

“I p’ay de Lord—” 

“My soul to take.” 

“My so’ to take.” 

“Ask Him for a Santa Claus,” urged Grace 
with impatience. 

“Give me a Santa Claus and a dolly. I 
wants a dolly.” 

“All right. Now, Grace, it’s your turn.” 
“Dear Lord, please send me a dolly and 
a go-cart, and I’ll be good,” pleaded Grace, 
who went right to the heart of the matter 
and forgot “Now I lay me.” 

“Dear Lord,” prayed Arline, feeling the 
great responsibility resting upon her, “help 


127 


JIBWISHKA. 

me to be good so I won’t disappoint Jib- 
wishka.” 

The young godmother eyed her diamond 
ring that night and said: 

“How much good you could do Christmas 
night if you only would, and how much more 
my father would care for an unselfish spirit 
than one jewel more or less.” 

“Did Santy Taus come?” murmured lit- 
tle Nina sleepily, Christmas morning. 

“Hurry, let’s get up and see,” exclaimed 
Grace. 

They seized hold of Arline’s hand and 
rushed into the parlor where the older girl 
nearly screamed for surprise. 

There were the two dollies, a go-cart and 
a piano. True, the dolls were not expensive, 
and the piano was second hand, but mother 
and father and Arline were delighted with 
it. Mother, who had known a little of music 
when she was younger, sat down and played 
a simple waltz, and Nina danced in baby 
fashion. 

“Where did it come from. Mother?” asked 
Arline, although she was sure she knew. 

“It was sent up from a music house yes- 


128 


JIBWISHKA. 


terday. They did not know who brought 
it but it was our name and address.” 

Arline hurried to the shelter house in the 
park on her next meeting day with her god- 
mother. She could not resist the impulse to 
feel through Jibwishka’s gloved hand for the 
ring. 

“It’s gone,” she said. 

“Yes, I told you it was a magic ring, and 
I could change it into anything I wanted 
to,” she smiled. 

“I wonder if you changed it into a piano,” 
asked the child. 

“You must never ask fairies questions. 
They would not be fairies if they were not 
mysterious.” 

Between the piano and school hours, the 
time passed rapidly for Arline. She was 
growing into a lovely, tall young girl, and 
often when she looked into the mirror she 
was reminded of the vision Jibwishka had 
seen in her glass of the future. Her fairy 
did not do so many wonderful things for the 
family now, as they did not need it, but she 
often saw Arline and her kindly sympathy 
and influence helped her over some hard 
places. 


129 


JIBWISHKA. 


Of late there seemed to be a sadness about 
Jibwishka that puzzled Arline, but she could 
not ask her the cause. How anybody so 
beautiful and good could be unhappy was 
something she could not understand. She 
put the question to one of her teachers in 
business college one day, during an inter- 
mission. 

“Don’t you think some one who is always 
making others happy ought to be happy her- 
self?” she queried. 

“Certainly,” responded Mr. Hayden, “and 
isn’t she?” 

“No, she isn’t,” the girl answered, “She’s 
a friend of mine, and lately she is always 
sad. I can’t help but think about her.” 

“She must be a pretty fine girl if she is 
always making others happy. What is her 
name?” 

“Jibwishka,” replied Arline, smiling at the 
appellation which she knew would sound 
odd to others. 

“Jibwishka! Is she an Indian?” 

“I think she is an East Indian princess. 
Really, I don’t know much about her, but 
she has been very kind to me — ^my good 
fairy, in fact.” 


ISO 


JIBWISHKA. 


“Does she look like an East Indian?” he 
continued, in an interested tone. 

“I’ll show you her picture,” she answered, 
in a sudden burst of confidence, for Jib- 
wishka had always been a sacred subject 
to her and was not to be discussed with 
strangers. 

She opened the locket and flashed before 
him the picture of a beautiful girl with lov- 
ing, thoughtful eyes. 

“Oh, I have seen her a number of times,” 
he remarked, “But why do you call her Jib- 
wishka?” 

“That is just a nickname,” she said hastily. 
“We call her that just for fun.” 

“But you said she is sad all the time; why 
is that?” 

“I don’t know,” replied Arline, growing 
confidential again, “but she is so sad I al- 
most want to cry. I can hardly bear to be 
with her.” 

“Well, I know a friend of hers, and he is 
sad all the time, too. I wonder if you could 
not straighten this out.” 

“Oh, if I only could.” She rose to her feet 
impatiently. “Tell me his name, and I’ll go 
at once.” 


131 


JIBWISHKA. 


The instructor smiled. It was a delicate 
mission, one that could not be handled ex- 
cept by just such an impulsive, loving girl 
as this. He gave her a tiny card with a name 
and address inscribed on it. She left the 
school at once and hurried to a young law- 
yer’s office. 

Russell Graham sat in his private office 
turning over his papers in a desultory man- 
ner. There was always a face interposing 
itself between his own and the papers in 
his hand. How could he be aware of their 
contents with this vision before him? Oh, 
well, he would let it all go; she could not 
have cared very much for him or she would 
not have been so easily offended or so slow 
to forgive. What difference did it all make, 
anyway ! After arriving at this sensible con- 
clusion, he picked up his pencil and continued 
to sit there in the same abstracted manner 
as before. 

“A young lady to see you, Mr. Graham,” 
announced the office boy. 

He entered the outer room with a question- 
ing air. Arline rose to her feet, and then 
realized she had no idea of what she was 
going to say. 


182 


JIBWISHKA. 


“I — I came to see you about Jibwishka,” 
she stammered. 

“Jibwishka!’’ He looked at her in amaze- 
ment. 

“Oh, I don’t know her other name,” she 
explained, “but here is her picture,” and she 
opened her locket. 

A hard look came over his face when he 
saw its contents. “I don’t know what this 
has to do with me.” 

“Well, she is always sad ; it makes me want 
to cry, and Mr. Hayden said you were 
sad, too, so I thought I would come and 
straighten it out.” 

“But how can you straighten it out?” he 
inquired. 

“Well, if you knew how good she was, you 
could never be cross with her. Why, she’s a 
regular angel; she’s my godmother and my 
fairy — ” 

“Why in the world do you call her Jib- 
wishka, and what do you mean by this other 
stuff?” he demanded. 

Arline paused. 

“You must think I’m crazy,” she answered. 
“I am so used to all this from the time I was 
a little girl that I can’t think how silly it 


133 


JIBWISHKA. 


must sound to other people. Well, I’ll tell 
you all about it.” 

And then she told him the whole story. 
He clasped her hand in gratitude when she 
had finished. 

“I agree with you,” he replied. “A girl 
like that is too good to lose for a silly quar- 
rel. And now I will depend on you to help 
me out.” 

That night a beautiful girl sat alone in 
her own apartments. She had all that money 
could give, but that was not enough, and a 
hungry heart was crying out against its lone- 
liness. Her parents were dead, and an elder- 
ly aunt shared her home. Russell was dis- 
pleased with her, and she could not beg him 
to come back. She must wait until he made 
the first advances. Her glance fell on the 
calendar. 

“Tomorrow is the tenth. My day for 
meeting Arline; she may need me. So many 
discouragements come up in a young girl’s 
life and perhaps I can help her.” 

Endeavoring to put her own troubles out 
of her mind, she tried to plan some new way 
to help Arline or the children. 

When the morrow came, she sauntered 


184 


JIBWISHKA. 


down to the old oak where for old times’ 
sake she and Arline still occasionally met. 
She smiled when in the crevice she found a 
little note. 

“Dear Jibwishka,” it read, “wait for me if 
I am a little late, for I will surely be there.” 

She sat down on a bench and was soon 
dreaming of old days, when she first met 
Arline and Russell. A pair of hands was 
clasped over her eyes. 

“Jibwishka!” 

It startled her. Russell’s voice, but how 
did he know that name? The hands un- 
clasped, and she was looking into Russell’s 
eyes. She tried to look stern, but failed. 

“Jibwishka,” he continued, “look in your 
glass and tell me my future. Will the girl I 
love forgive me or must I die unshriven?” 

She hesitated and then drew a mirror from 
her handbag. 

“Look in the glass, and see your future 
for yourself,” she answered, and as he gazed 
into its depths, the golden head nestled by 
his brown hair and he beheld the reflection 
of himself and Jibwishka. 


135 










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